estdeus_innobis | Late on Monday, the Twenty-Sixth of October

"Yield then to God....You might delude man, but God you cannot mock."

I worked all night and most of the day, copying the rite for Kate. With a few lines left, I shall be able to deliver it in the morning. The morning. I look up at the ceiling, trying to remember the date.

"Huh," I say softly. The morning will be the Twenty-Seventh of October. I missed it. So caught up in my own drama and the goings-on around me, I missed it.

Eleven years now that I've been Laurence Tillerman.

Forty-six years that I have been on this Earth.

I won't count how many years since my family died off, the last one clinging to life like it was her last hope.

I suppose it truly is time to place aside childish things and forget Kate and my feelings for her. She has moved on. I do not know why I cannot.

And there is another thing I cannot place aside; my anger toward Lúgh. He should never have risked her life. But then that swings around to me because I brought her into this.

If anyone dies during this rite, it should be me.

That would end this all. I should not have such thoughts, I know, but Lord, allow me some small selfishness. Even Your son wanted His pain to end.

At least His had a purpose.

[CLOSED.]