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A promise is a promise unto death and beyond. The law is the Law, and it is sacred. The breaking of oaths is a crime unforgiveable.

Sometimes my life confuses me. I am to hold Law and honor above all else, in a society whose very existence lies in breaking codes, and stealing is not an honorable profession. Sometimes I think I see with a wierd sort of double-vision, a detatched sort of split-view where I can see both darkness and light. I can observe the ups and downs and hypocrisies of my life, and just... shrug.

I'm not supposed to be this deep. I don't know how it happens. This is stuff for other people to ponder. I don't think like this. I'm a happy person. And I am. I like my life. I wouldn't change it.

I think maybe that is the pain I see in my mother's eyes sometimes, when she looks at me hard and doesn't see me. I think these confused feelings come from her, because I know this isn't what she wanted for me. Sometimes she is proud of me, and other times I think she is disappointed. I'm confused by her. Is it wrong of me to feel like she is the biggest hypocrite of all of us here - killing for what she doesn't really believe in? Except she does believe in it... just not in this context. I'm so confused. Who is she, really? I look at her and she seems like something out of a dream, ethereal. Out of place.

Then I see her little foot hitting the ground and her hand swinging, her sword flinging blood droplets across the room, spattering Lawler's finger paintings as she follows through on the strike - the killing strike. The strike that saved me, probably all of us. The strike that left the flooded the floor of or quarters with blood. Each time I slam my eyes shut, and I still see it. This is my mother, I think, and I'm horrified by the thought. That can't be right. My mother is the woman who puts me to bed at night and makes sure I eat my vegetables. My mother is the one who teaches me about things like fairness, honor, the value of avian life. Never be a bully. Take only from those unto death. A promise is a promise amen. And then she is angry with me when I refuse to make promises she wants to hear from me, because I know I can't keep them.

My mother who doesn't want to be a thief, who doesn't want me to be a theif, whose faith in our way of life is so paper thin that even a child can see through it. My mother, whose teachings are always garbled up in my head with all the nights I could hear her sobbing in my father's arms, because she had to take another life - or because I came back triumphant from a heist so hard Bayard had to double-dog dare me to do it. Then she gets up the next morning to teach us more about honor and oaths and tradition, and the great legacy we're living, and how important it is for us thieves to stick to our values.

What a wierd place. What a strange world. Sometimes I'm so angry with her. Sometimes I want to scream at her. Sometimes I want to scream at my father, for not seeing it, or for ignoring it, and living in his happy dream world that everything is okay as long as she is here. It's a lie, and it's a stupid one. Sometimes I feel angry words welling up in me that I want to shout at him, but it would hurt too much to see his faith destroyed.

I feel mean and hateful sometimes without really knowing why. What am I looking for, exactly? There's nothing better than this. This is fine. I am happy.

At least... most of the time.


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