That's true; I only tried alcohol back in... March, I think it was, before I got sacrificed to a tree. I don't remember much about that week, but I do remember not drinking a lot of dry things.
[She laughs lightly, then watches his face, her pale, pale eyes looking him over.]
Well, that doesn't really matter, actually. Who I am now, and who I am when I die are two different people. Where I'm from, there's a cycle of reincarnation. The only souls who don't make it are those whose lives were truly despicable over and over again no matter how many chances they were given.
And then there are people like me, who ferry the dead. I've been reincarnated a lot, but I'll never remember the people I was before. They were just Witches, over and over again. That's why it doesn't bother me that someone might find joy in murdering me until I forget who I am and where I'm from. When I do really die, then I'll just come back.
Like snapping your fingers. Like magic, almost.
[It all makes perfect sense to Peace. She is not a cog, but outside the machine entirely, looking upon human lives as the same as forces of nature. There is no good or evil, but lives well lived and lives well wasted.]
That isn't to be confused with things like martyrdom or anything like that. I've always been OK with dying, because that's what happens when you live. It has to come to an end sometime, no one should live forever. Though people certainly do try!
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[She laughs lightly, then watches his face, her pale, pale eyes looking him over.]
Well, that doesn't really matter, actually. Who I am now, and who I am when I die are two different people. Where I'm from, there's a cycle of reincarnation. The only souls who don't make it are those whose lives were truly despicable over and over again no matter how many chances they were given.
And then there are people like me, who ferry the dead. I've been reincarnated a lot, but I'll never remember the people I was before. They were just Witches, over and over again. That's why it doesn't bother me that someone might find joy in murdering me until I forget who I am and where I'm from. When I do really die, then I'll just come back.
Like snapping your fingers. Like magic, almost.
[It all makes perfect sense to Peace. She is not a cog, but outside the machine entirely, looking upon human lives as the same as forces of nature. There is no good or evil, but lives well lived and lives well wasted.]
That isn't to be confused with things like martyrdom or anything like that. I've always been OK with dying, because that's what happens when you live. It has to come to an end sometime, no one should live forever. Though people certainly do try!