The beds at the Maison Aux Piliers are just as good as the one I had in Lyon. They're better than the seat of Marie's carriage. With how exhausted I am, I should by all means have passed out instantly. But, even so-
"...I can't sleep."
Grumbling, I climb out of bed and make my way to the hall outside. Turning, I begin to make my way downstairs. Maybe a drink of water will-
I hear a gentle scratching noise. Long brown hair, caught in the breeze from an open window, flutters in my vision.
Seated on a stool, gazing out into the night air with an artist's canvas in front of him, is Saint George.
"...I didn't realize you were here." I say, after a moment of silence.
"Hm. Things seem safe for now. My instinct skill was upgraded by being in English territory, so I'll sense it when enemies arrive - unless it's another Assassin," he answers.
"-in which case it would be best to be nearby, huh?" I conclude, and he nods. "...You paint?"
"I'm not very good at it, I'm afraid." He says. "That 'photography' in the modern world - I wouldn't mind trying my hand at that. But for now, I've resolved myself to paint."
"...Why is that?" I ask after a moment.
"Because this is something that can be left behind," he says, and I fall silent. "We servants… are transient existences. That's how it should be, perhaps. But these peaceful times, nights like this - I want to create a record of them that remains when I disappear."
I gaze over his shoulder - and unfortunately, all I can see is blue and black blotches. "That's…"
"As I said, I'm not very good at it," he says with a chuckle. "But you're not awake at this hour because of my lack of artistic talent, are you?"
"...I'm not." I reply. I know why I'm awake. Something that's been eating at me all day, even before my little meltdown earlier. "I guess… let's start with Elizabeth."
She's not what's really messing with my head. But if I understand this, then maybe- "Can we seriously forgive her for her crimes?"
He gives a gentle smile, and I feel a strange sense of peace settle over my aching heart. "Did she ever do anything to you or I?"
That… "I-it can't be that simple, right? I mean, she's evil, right! A horrible, horrible criminal, so surely justice would-!"
"Does justice need to play a part in forgiveness?" He asks.
"Huh?" What does he-
"Well, in the case of Elizabeth, don't forget that justice was done. She was caught, sentenced, and died a pitiful - if well-deserved - death." He continues. "Would you punish her more? Even beyond death?"
"It… her punishment doesn't bring back-"
"Is it the role of justice to raise the dead?" He asks. "No court made by men can do such a thing."
"Then, to reform - come on, you can't seriously tell me she's reformed!"
"Hasn't she?" He asks. "That girl threw away her entire adult life to try to claw back her innocence. She's given up on torture entirely, in favor of singing. I'd say that's repentance."
"But she's bad at singing!" I retort.
He sighs. "I never said she was good at it."
"I mean, you get it, right? Idols are untouchable beauties, platonic ideals of femininity - she's just chasing the same thing as before! She's gonna be the standard of beauty and who cares how many eardrums she has to rupture to get there!"
"That's-" He starts, only to be cut off by the sound of wings flapping. And out the window, I can see the fruit of my cruel words spoken in anger, as Elizabeth Bathory's tear-stained face turns back to us for just a moment before she rockets off into the night sky. "Oh dear. It appears I will be consoling two distraught teenagers tonight."
"I…" I don't really know how to follow that up.
"Well, suffice to say, the poor girl is doing the best she can. It's difficult for a Servant to really change. Tremendously so, in fact. Some would even say it's impossible, but I have faith that it is." George says. "Still, I think considering her handicaps, Elizabeth is the very model of repentance - but she's not who you really wanted to talk about, is she?"
And with just that little prompting, the messy tale of Lye Batenkaitos and an unfulfilled grudge tumbles from my lips, together with the story of Louis Arneb and her final plea for mercy.
***
Saint George closes his eyes for a moment, and he crosses himself. Then, opening his eyes once more, he speaks. "Subaru-kun, do you know the difference between anger and hatred?"
"I think hatred goes deeper." That's my instinct, comparing the two words.
"That's right. If I had to put it into words… anger can be satisfied, but hatred is bottomless. That's why it's the worse of the two." He sighs. "You're dissatisfied because you didn't kill Batenkaitos yourself - would you have been satisfied if you had? Or would you have been upset that he hadn't suffered more?"
I feel gross. "...The second, probably. But, he deserves it! That monster is-"
"That child was already in hell for his entire life." The saint says simply, and I stop. "Can't you see that?"
I don't want to see it.
"I'll tell you the story of the life of Lye Batenkaitos." Saint George says.
***
The boy was born in a slum, or maybe a brothel. He certainly never knew any parents worth anything - in all likelihood, that boy didn't even know his own name until he received that so-called 'gospel' of the Witch's Cult.
He was a slave at some point, I'd wager. Although I can't imagine what sort of value his masters got from him before he had his Authority.
But one day he received it - who knows how. And on another day, or maybe the same one, he found himself in a lethal situation, and he used it instinctively. Lye Batenkaitos devoured his first life, and just like that he was doomed.
It had to be dazzling. For just a moment, for the first time in his life, he didn't have to suffer through his own wretched existence. For the first time, he had the chance to experience what everyone else took for granted.
In your country, there are people who lose themselves in video games and animation to get away from the pain of their lives. NEETs, they're called, correct? And those people, they get lost in shallow imitations, with none of the true depth and connection of real human existence, to get away from… really, social embarrassment? There are those who would give up on normal life for just that much?
Well, that aside, you can imagine it, right? How much deeper the taste of a true life, with all the value of real family connections, of true effort and accomplishment, of love and romance, and even tragedy and loss. How much more dazzling to a boy whose only memories had been the gnawing of hunger, the sting of the whip, the cold of homelessness.
He never stood a chance.
Of course he dedicated his life to it. Even as he gained the power that might have let him make a true life for himself, he fell deeper and deeper into his inescapable addiction to the memories of others. Even as he grew a tolerance for it. Even as each new meal came to mean less and less to him.
He had a sister. That was the one redeeming fact of his life, you understand that, right? The one thing that might have given Lye Batenkaitos meaning.
But someone like him, who only knew how to eat and how to seek new meals, what could he possibly do to show his love?
He shared his addiction. That's all he could do, and so even that one connection became another mark on his list of sins. And in the end, that shared addiction killed the sister he loved, and then him.
That is the story of Lye Batenkaitos's life.
***
I didn't want to know this. I wanted to ignore it. This was the puzzle I least wanted to solve.
"And so what!?" I finally say with a moan. "What else could I have done!? I couldn't save him! Not after all he had done!"
"That's correct. Saving such a boy was impossible, and it was perfectly just that he should die for his crimes." Saint George says. "But let it end there."
"Let it… end there?" I echo numbly.
"Justice was done, and so forgive the rest." He explains. "That is the difference between anger and hate. Let his life and death be punishment enough, and move on. And if you see him again, and he's up to the same old routine, kill him again."
"And," I say, swallowing, "what about Louis?"
"What do you think is right?" Saint George asks, smiling - and then, suddenly, he stands. "...I've made a mistake."
"What-?" I start to ask.
"Elizabeth is in danger. I'm going after her." He answers, and in the next instant, he leaps out the window, horse materializing beneath him - and then, in a blur of motion, he's gone.
***
"Stupid Fishie! C-can't sing, huh? I'll s-s-show him who can't sing!"
"-Then, shall I teach you, my dear?"
"E-eh!? Who are you!? I don't need the help of a weirdo in a mask-!"
"Ah, Christine, my Christine, do you not recognize me? I am the angel of music."