yourself to waste away, consumed by rage and hatred, to a point where death would be too easy for you? That black mask you wear is proof. Your humanity will die and rot by the hands of sorrow.
...His one true companion, throughout the past and the present.
Angela has too much pride to quench the desire to speak.
Just as he was her resentment, she is his. A puppet with its strings cut off will have nothing to become, and they both know it, no matter how much Angela desires to go against fate.
She ruined a life, and ruined an—
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is that how she truly views him ? a weak , beating heart scarred from the nightmare that is the city itself .
pity , is all he is getting from her , it nauseates him to his stomach , to the point where he wanted to regurgitate his own innards .
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was formed. Even among those who do not seek salvation for themselves to stay alive will not utter a word.
...I just wanted compensation for my suffering. Why didn't you accept my apology, even when I acknowledged my wrongdoing? Will you simply allow—
is unfathomable—Angela wants to rid herself of her own suffering every day. Why can she not understand him and his stagnant mind?
Roland is nothing more than a Fixer with a broken, bleeding heart and enough blood on his hands to fill the Backstreets.
She wants to. So desperately, she wants to. Maybe if she could, her own pain would dissipate, even just a little. That, she knows, is more than wishful thinking: it is nothing more than her own sheer naivety.
To understand a man who is nothing but a shell, with just a husk of—
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she can play human all she wants ,
whatever knowledge she strives to understand or what lengths she will reach to meet that circumstance .
she will never understand him nor the so - called humanity she sees .
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a heart to offer—no. Not a shell. He is nothing more than a single emotion; one which, if anything, contradicts and escapes her comprehension:
Sorrow.
Everything about him screams of his misery; the very same he himself wants to be rid of, but never attempts to release. This—
A while ago, I wore mouse ears for some sort of Library celebration. They were round, like biscuits, made of synthetic material to soften the feel.
Endearing isn't my first descriptor, but... they weren't something I despised. Of course, don't expect to see them again.
Reflecting on my fellow Librarians, I see similarities with most of them. Malkuth's optimism, Chesed's warmth, and Binah's self-understanding have been... vital lessons on my path to becoming human.
...Even Netzach and I, though different in ideals, both crave a free life. Hm.
Sometimes, I feel a longing—not for the usual: the City, humanity, or the ability to exist freely. It’s simply for... him. Roland, my so-called colleague.
This feeling arises during my irritation towards him; it feels like a desire to understand him. The logistics of a human.
@JunkieLibrarian Hm. Living just to have it be over seems to me like a waste of a new perspective. So self-defeating, and to think that it could be so simple...
Who's to say we can't live whatever life we wish? That's why I rely on you to assist me. I want you to be on my side to earn my—