(England on Empire and powerlust)
England, at times, was guilty of a great lust for power. He was careful about this passion. At one point the sun never set on the British Empire: he had tasted such great power, and his loses were all the more bitter in comparison.
In detail he could still recall the way the many colonies he no longer possessed used to bow. How they has resisted, and how they had won... those were still mysteries. But at least, with them, he had known complete domination. If only for a point.
It was those were as powerful as he that he relished the most. There was no way to explain the satisfaction of Spain falling to his knees, or seeing France flinch when he raised a hand. His anger rivaled this joy when his subordinates exhausted his patience, turned on him, or when the crown allied with those he so enjoyed dominating. America tested this desire, as he watched that boy that had been his to subdue grow into an entity even more powerful than he. The "superpower" should be saying his named with fear, with the reverence of unquestioning service. War tested him further, the Cold War infuriated him. The world was no longer his plaything. Nothing frustrated him more.
At times, now stepping into the 21st century, he liked to believe that this lust was not so strong. Yet, he knew in his heart it would never quite be tempered. As conflicting as the fire of his desires were with his honor as a gentleman, he could not stop the feelings that were as innate to him as a carnivores need for blood.