True evil is, above all things, seductive. When the Devil knocks at your door, he doesn’t have cloven hooves. He is beautiful, and offers you your heart’s desire in whispered airs. Like a siren, beckoning you to ruinous shore.
The pansy at my feet doth the same tale repeat. Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
The glory of life surmounts the fear of death. Good Christians fear hellfire, so to avoid it, they are kind to their fellow man. Good pagans do not have this fear, so they can be who they are, good or ill, as their nature dictates. We have no fear of God, so we are accountable to no one but each other.
You are so fragile, you mortals, such things of skin and air. Such things of the past. The future belongs to the strong, to the immortal races, to me and my kind.
When you have seen that of which you are capable, when you have stood in blood long enough, what is there left but to wade to a desolate shore, away from all others?