After the first lump of coal, Thousand did not question anything. It wasn’t that she saw no value in compassion, or kindness, or other traditional virtues. It was that the statistics promised little chance of redemption. With just a bit of arcane struggle, a crack snapped the chunk of carbon repeatedly. All that was left was a black powder that she could use to fill in the stencil. She opened the drape and cast the prayer. No, it was not that she was unwilling to do what was right. In fact, her recent actions had been so far outside her comfort zone that it wasn’t funny.
(Photo by Nikolay Kovalenko | Colin Viessmann)
Intermittent acts of violence, widespread fraud, and a loose understanding of consent had marked the past several months. She hadn’t made a decision she could be proud of in even longer than that. If there was anything left of her soul, it lay sodden with the blood she had shed- through action and inaction alike. Thousand did not question anything; she knew that now all she could do was win. There was no chance of playing fair. She sent lumps of coal, now, instead of receiving them, and watched as the recipients were slowly overwhelmed with luminescence.