"What could be more perverse than a personal quest for dissolution?"
Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination […] to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such?
I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart - one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law , merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself - to offer violence to its own nature - to do wrong for the wrong's sake only - that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; - hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; - hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; - hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin - a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it - if such a thing wore possible - even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.
An obsidian blade was an extra special treat, the cuts made from the blade/it possessed an edge, which approached nearly a molecular thickness, [and the cuts made from it] were, in his opinion, thoroughly and exquisitely unique/distinct and inimitable by a steel or any other metallic edge/or that of any metal.
And incomparable to any that might have been made by steel or some other metal.
His torso, by now, was a most intricate and elaborate canvas of thin red lines, several somewhat deeper than [] had intended and which had been bleeding steadily for over a half-hour. He felt wonderfully, deliriously, light-headed.
He mentally reminded himself to thank [] once again, after his 'ordeal' was over.
The blade's edge, itself, was approaching an almost mo/approached an almost molecular thickness.
Raizel paused, contemplating/considering. He wiped off the blade against a towel, licking off the residue. If he weakened him too severely, it was possible that the dark spear would attempt to gain the upper hand. Reluctantly, he ceased his 'work', wiping both the blade and then his hands off on the towel he had kept to one side. He licked his fingertips, unwilling to waste his servant's precious blood, which was indescribably delicious. Even now, the coppery tang lingered in his mouth.
His body shuddered and his hips threatened to buck as the blade nicked/left red lines against his skin, accompanied by feather light/by a feather-light ghosting intended to tease him. Glorious red streaks were left in its wake. Raizel sipped from the goblet (as delicious as it was, he was well-aware of the effect it would have on Frankenstein), which had by now, collected a substantial/reasonable quantities of blood. It was, of course, delicious. F felt himself hit the height of ecstasies as he watched the/his simple movement, which simultaneously gratified him to no end and put him (in a pique of perverseness/perversion) into an ecstatic state/made him hit an ecstatic state, andmadehimhitthe'ecstasyofallecstasies'ashe had called it in the past/referred to it in the past.
In a fit of glorious God-given perversion (and here, he mentally laughed, for the nobles had once been regarded as Gods among humans), caused him to hit what was to his (potentially narrow) mind, the ecstasy to end all ecstasies.
He had been extolling on the virtues of the particular implement for a number of days now. Raizel dearly wished he would stop. He suppressed a quick flash of irritation, but instead, "Frankenstein, more tea." He tapped the rim of the cup.
Frankenstein scurried off.