I once asked my son, what the difference is between a monster, and a man. He replied that monsters do not feel as men do. They hold no compassion or mercy in their hearts. After all these years, I'm sorry to say son, you were wrong.
I remember sometimes, your beauty, Lenore, I see it in the tavern wenches, in the farmer's daughter, in the minister's wife, and it pains me, because I remember then how you died in their fire, how that man took you and our son from me. I wish I had saved your ashes.
I wish, but only children can make wishes. You and Corin are gone, and I remain. May the cruel and uncaring being that rules all burn in his paradise for the misdeeds his inattention has wrought in our lives, in our world. There is no justice after all.
....
I met a strange man today, on the road to find your killer. Of what we spoke, I'll put here, for we spoke of justice of all things.
What is Justice? Is it merely the keeping of the law, or is it doing what is right? The way the traveler spoke, he seemed to not know any more than I did on the subject, or possibly, was trying to find out where I stood on the subject before revealing his own answer. How I've thought of justice since that man set the fire. Justice doesn't exist, I've come to that conclusion. It is a farce created by society for self-comfort. There is the law, and those that break it. Justice, if you believe in it, is a matter of perspective.
....
What have I done? While walking through an unknown wood, I chanced upon a robber relieving a woman of her belongings. He was yelling, she was screaming no one was doing anything. I couldn't breath. I thought I smelled smoke. He was yelling, yelling at the woman to give him everything, his blade threatening to take her life instead. He was yelling, Corin was yelling. No, not Corin, Corin is, is.... my god, Corin is DEAD! My son is dead! The robber, he killed him, and you were screaming in terror. I had to save you, save our son so he could recover. I had to do something. I felt movement, and suddenly, quiet, calm, tranquility. The robber was laying at my feet, blood pooling around him from my own blade. I quietly walked off, unable to bear the torment of the dying fire. I could never find it, but I could sense by the thinning smokey smell, it was dying. And yet, another feeling, one I hadn't felt in awhile came with me......Satisfaction.
....
What torments of fate have befallen me? I killed a man, was that Just? He was breaking the law, was I enforcing it or was I breaking it as well? He wasn't threatening me, just the woman. She was clearly better off and used to wealth, would it have really hurt her to part with it for a man that clearly needed it? Am I a murderer for killing a man, or a hero for saving a woman? If I had done nothing, would they have both lived? Did I deprive children of a father? Was he a loving man, or a fearful tyrant to his family. Would they thank me for saving them, or hate me for depriving them? And what of the woman, did I ensure she got home to her family, or was she fated to die that day and simply passed on in some other fashion later? Was she kind and loving, or was she a cold shrew? Was she pregnant? I killed a man, how do I go on from this?
