I do things because they feel good. I drink because it feels good. I killed my husband because it felt good to be rid of him. I f*** my brother because it feels good to feel him inside me. I lie about f*****g my brother because it feels good to keep our son safe from hateful hypocrites. I killed your High Sparrow and all his little sparrows, all his septons, all his septas, all his filthy soldiers, because it felt good to watch them burn.
If evidence is collected, if confessions are made, if a verdict of guilty is entered in a court of law, then its happening becomes as the rocks and rivers, and to argue that it didn’t happen is to argue with reality itself.
The love between a man and wife is sacred. It reflects the love the gods have for all of us. But sin leads us away from the sacred. And only confession can purge sin.
Some believe confession helps a guilty soul find peace, releasing us from the shame and regret of our mistakes. In the face of mortality, many feel the need to seek this closure to make things right. Because if death doesn’t kill us, our demons will.
People don’t want apologies. They want confessions. They want you to stand there and list all the shitty ways you’ve hurt them so they know you understand.