My palm connected with the final looking-glass. A wave of brittle fractures rippled outward from the place my sanguine hand had struck. It shattered. I watched the pieces of my former life--the reflection of this monster I'd become—fall about my feet in a hailstorm of blood, tears, and broken mirrors. My attrition was complete. And now dissension boiled in my veins. I would find my penance. Even if God could not forgive me, even if she could not forgive me...maybe I could at least find the power to forgive myself.

Why don't you just do it, then?" Racath hissed. "Just kill me. I dare you."

Now, I assume you know what this is. You've seen this before in other stories - the part where the disgruntled villain stands over the hero. He is triumphant, the hero now at his mercy. But when commanded to slay him, he hesitates. He lowers his sword. And he says: "I cannot."

If you are to take away but one thing from the words I have spoken, let it be this: there is a world of difference between "I Cannot" and "I will not".

"I cannot" is a surrender. It implies a lack of options. Someone who says such a thing does so only because they have no other choice. They do not WISH to relent - in fact, they usually want to obey their mandate and destroy the hero at their feet. But they cannot, because the guilt is too unbearable. But that does not make him a better man; all that a man who says "I cannot" has done, is given in to the compulsion to repent.

Allow me to make myself perfectly clear - I HAD other options. Easy options. Simple options. I could have killed Racath Thanjel that day. I could have killed him and all the others, too. I could have left them dead and bloody on that grassy hill, and gone trotting back to the Imperator's lap. I could have shrugged off the attrition that had dogged my every step, thought better of my disenssion, given up on all hope of absolution and accepted my damnation. And I could have spent the rest of eternity destroying God's green earth at Lavethion's side.

I could have. It would have been so easy. So simple. So wrong. And I didn't want to.

And so I took a sickened step away. Stabbed Osveta into the grass. Shook my head. And said: "I won't.

And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.

Discord, a sleepless hag who never dies, With Snipe-like nose, and Ferret-glowing eyes, Lean sallow cheeks, long chin with beard supplied, Poor crackling joints, and wither'd parchment hide, As if old Drums, worn out with martial din, Had clubb'd their yellow Heads to form her Skin.

Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

That each pull'd different ways with many an oath, "Arcades ambo," id est--blackguards both.