[That pulls Barnabas' attention. His cold gaze sliding from the blade of the knife to the troubled youth not far from him. That he would admit to such so candidly, with such ease...well, he isn't surprised. The boy does not seem a diligent keeper of secrets.
Barnabas cannot say that he does not agree with the sentiment from his own perspective. His own world is one of suffering, of ceaseless misery, strife, and prejudice. The endless toil of the willful living, clawing and trampling one another to reach for the heavens, for perverse godliness which will remain forever beyond their wretched reach...yet, it is worth saving.
The folly of youth is to believe such personal feelings, such as hatred, matter.]
Death is a mercy few recognize.
[He offers coolly, before returning to his task, grabbing a pot to fill with water before placing it on the stove.]
no subject
Barnabas cannot say that he does not agree with the sentiment from his own perspective. His own world is one of suffering, of ceaseless misery, strife, and prejudice. The endless toil of the willful living, clawing and trampling one another to reach for the heavens, for perverse godliness which will remain forever beyond their wretched reach...yet, it is worth saving.
The folly of youth is to believe such personal feelings, such as hatred, matter.]
Death is a mercy few recognize.
[He offers coolly, before returning to his task, grabbing a pot to fill with water before placing it on the stove.]
This place respects it not.