Do you remember when you killed your first dragon? Remember the rush of thrill, of pride, that youd rid the world of another monster, that because of you the princess was alive? Remember the thoughts of promised reward, of peace and happiness for the rest of your life—the hope of a job well done? And then the guilt sets in. You cant collect your reward without some tropy, without some evidence that the monster is really dead. You have to cut off its head, or cut out its tongue, or heart, or some other marker. When they talk about the glory of dragon slaying they dont talk about how many knights walk away from their prize and leave the body untouched...choosing a life of anonymity or ignominy to mutilating such a beautiful creature. A worthy opponent. What are men but grains of sand, running through an hourglass? What right have they to life their hands against the immortals? Does it make any sense at all that evil should be so desirable? But when the princess puts her hand in yours, and presses her soft lips against your cracked and tearstained one, then the short, fleeting life of a mortal seems a little more worthwhile. And when she presses up against you and laughs like the chiming of a thousand silver bells the venom in your blood begins to lose its sting, and you remember that this is what you kill to protect. They say that to destroy a monster you must understand it, and that in understanding evil you let it in your mind and become one with it. But to become a hero, perhaps you have to do likewise, and start by pretending. So when the princess offers you another kiss, you smile.
Posted on: Mon, 04 Aug 2014 22:19:51 +0000
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