That's not fair. [Plain, petty petulance. But he doesn't care. He's too far gone out of both his normal self-possession and the shadow of real despair, and apathy - dull, empty, restful - has its siren song.]
Why in bloody hell should it be up to me? I've done this for three hundred years. I should be free to stop if I want to.
no subject
Why in bloody hell should it be up to me? I've done this for three hundred years. I should be free to stop if I want to.