This time, there are no tears. This time, there is only emptiness and I feel it set in the straight line of my mouth. I am not strong enough for this. I want an earthquake, a hurricane, anything – even a devil, the one with the cloven hoof – Mrs. Leed’s unfortunate 13th child – to rush out and stomp on me, break me into little pieces and hurl me to the stars, let me go back with those people I love. Please.

The episode of Banaka pointing to his chest and crying out of existential anguish reminds me of a line from Goethe’s West-East Divan: “Is one man alive when others are alive?

let’s be honest: ignoring is acting, and nothing more – acting as though the words, or actions of your oppresors don’t hurt. you hear the words, you feel the insults, and you bear the blows. you can act deaf and impervious to pain, but the stabs and the arrows pierce you anyway.

Well then, take this thought with you for the dark hours to come: It is a ludicrous fiction that love conquers all, but it can, in fact, conquer quite a lot. I am Iason of the Blood, Knight of Arthur, King of the Britons, reborn into dark service in the year of Our Lord five hundred and sixty. My power is vast, and for none to arrogate but by my will and decree. My services are engaged, Selina. Tell me what you need to ease your pain in this, and it is yours.

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