Years drift by you like water, cool and deceptively tranquil.
You know you should be content, not happy, never again that, but satisfied if nothing else. After all, you are doing good, slowly atoning for the an ocean of sin. You work and you try not to think.
You try not to think about waking up on a bloody battlefield, aching with soul deep wounds barely healed. Confusion and a slowly dawning horror for what you had done and seen done. You try not to think about the feeling of the Devourlords body dying around you, her twisted affection and madness seeping though your connection like sludge.
You try not to think about your desperation, about how you grasped forgiveness from someone not truly able to grant it. But, most of all, you try not to think about how her soul reached out to you, at the very end, confusion and fever-bright affection coloring the connection before you broke it and left her to her fate. You do your job and try very, very hard not to think.
You tell yourself it was right, that it was Justice. The Devourlord was evil. She was more death than you had ever been. She was rot, decay and she deserved it.
There is a doubt. A niggling little voice that never stops wondering. How evil was she really? You, Gig, did more than she. You built an empire, you killed and maimed. She.. she slept. She was vague and mad and, yes, evil. But, oh, you were so much worse. Yours was the will that urged her to greater heights, greater powers. She was strong, but broken in so many ways.
You remember loving her a little, for that.
When she curled up inside herself, fragile soul shards that trusted you with control of a body that was hers by birth.. Well, that was as close to tenderness that you ever came near to feeling as Gig.
It hurts to think of her.
To think of the mad affection you shared. To know that, as Vigilance, you left her alone with her enemies. To think of that last burst of confused, almost-love before you shut her out. You don't want to know what followed, what she felt at this last betrayal. It would be too heavy a burden to bear, even for you.
There is nothing but the cycle; death and life, over and over. You watch mortals flit through mayfly lives and ache with envy. How lucky they were. The curse of memories was not laid over them as they were born again and again. You wish you were so lucky. There would be no oblivion for you. No embracing darkness safe from thoughts and past deeds.
That is your dearest wish, nothingness. And escape from the clawing, howling void inside of you. Memories prowl the edges of your consciousness, starving jackals with glinting eyes and shining teeth. You turn your back on them, as you once turned your back on another and try to convince yourself you feel nothing, regret nothing.
You wonder if you will ever earn the forgivness so easily handed to you.
You doubt it.