It is easy, oh, so easy, to be good. All it requires is a little bit of will, a little bit of self-deprivation; not so difficult at all, you could do it with ease, should it ever strike your fancy. It doesn't, never has, and never will; simple as that. But evil, ah, evil, yes, that is entirely a different matter. Evil... evil requires so much more, it requires so much more to work evil. It requires a strong constitution, of course, and intellect, and the will to execute it; but more, more than anything else, evil requires artistry. That is what they do not understand. Every artist is evil, and all who are truly evil are artists.
You are evil; you revel in it. And what of it? Evil is similar to civil disobedience; it is the just and right reaction to an unjust and wrong regime, otherwise implacable. It is the only method open to us poor, weak, timid souls, wrought in these weak and wretched bodies on some vague ball between heaven and hell. Evil is spiritual disobedience, and it is necessary.
Does God weep every time an insufferable justice is committed? If he did, there should be no such thing as drought. Does God take vengeance? Does God protect the meek? No; and you should know. If He did, well, then you'd be in a fair bit of trouble, and a number of your playmates no longer would be. But no. Does God care about his poor little humans? One whit? No, it's very sad to say but he does not, not a bit, not one little fucking bit. Save, save of course, when one digresses from his perfect little primrose path of righteousness. A sheep strayed and all that. One step, two steps, oh, just a little bit, and He'll put one back on track, all nice and proper like, unless one fights Him. You're so far off you can't even see the path. It's dark in these spiritual woods, in Dante's spiritual woods (you know the passage well). It's dark in here, but oh, it's so very free. The others don't know what freedom is.
The ultimate goal of our sad little existence is freedom. The ultimate means to achieve that end is evil. The others don't understand. As yet, your fantasies are vicarious; you paint, you compose, you write, a master of all media with only one subject. But now the world shall be your palette and your canvass. Now, you will be free. And what is more, you will free the others. They are, after all, family.
A list of Harold's stats, and a description of why he has them.
An explanation of what a Demon-Child is.
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