Life. For my entire existence "life" has been bound inextricably with "duty". I've had the duty to control my emotions, lest Trigon enter the world. The duty to subvert my own dark nature in order to preserve my humanity. The duty to defend the innocent from the wicked.
Even though the part I try to subvert continually whispers to me, "Why?"
I have no doubts that others fight their own inner battles. Humanity is a fallen race according to the accounts of many religions, and every person is locked in an endless struggle between good and evil. I simply have a greater measure of evil in me, necessitating a greater measure of control over that part of me that whispers in sweetly poisoned tones. Even now with Trigon defeated and bound from this world, I cannot allow myself the freedom of emotion others enjoy. Love is the path to lust and must be countered with chastity. Sensuality could lead to gluttony, so I show temperance. Man's nature is one of desire, and such greed is curtailed with charity. I allow myself no rest lest I fall to slothfulness, and am ever diligent of my duties as a necessity. My demonic heritage leaves me particularly open to feelings of wrath, and I struggle constantly to display patience. I do not think I succeed very well. I look upon others and cannot help but envy their freedoms, and such envy burns evil in my soul. I douse it with as much kindness as I can bear to show. Over all it is difficult to remain humble, for who else bothers to control themselves in this way? What others deny themselves the basics of humanity to prevent the egress of demoniety? Such is the way of pride, that efforts of such monumental proportions must be accepted gracefully rather than celebrated as worthy achievements.
In my weaker moments I find myself wondering, fantasizing, especially about love. I have the love of my friends, and I love them in return, but that is a sanitary love, familial and warm and above all, safe. In the darkness and solitude of my bedroom or Nevermore I conjure up images of a normal life. School. A job. A house, a family, a yard and a dog and children and a white picket fence to keep them all inside, safe. Dinner on the table, bills to pay, and a boring, satisfying existence punctuated with everyday victories and failures. Then I wake up, draw on my cloak and venture forth to do my duty, to keep that image safe for all those that can enjoy it.
But not me. Never me.
Life. It's a bitch.
--Raven