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That was really unfair.

After all the nonsense of everyone you get to know and like dying in Game of Thrones, I’ve gotten a bit more cautious about feeling a particular way about characters I encounter in anything I read or watch (because with the popularity of that series, who’s to say other authors and screenwriters won’t follow suit and kill everyone off?).

Obviously, I am not cautious enough though. I can’t remember another time where I distinctly hated a character, and then realized so suddenly as things progressed that this character I detested was also the only one whose suffering I was moved by.

Not that, “oh, I guess I feel a little bad for you after all”, line of thinking, but rather the kind where their suffering makes you weep and changes your entire perspective on the story because it is the one thing that you want to turn out “right”. And it doesn’t make sense, because you still don’t like this character…but…it’s you now. Because this character is suffering the worst thing you can imagine, and the one that your touch of obsessive compulsion has dictated you to imagine over and over before you sleep. You think about it so often that you are astonished that you are still moved by it at all…but there it was.

Not fair at all.

Ultimately, I suppose I would get over it if it weren’t for my Wolf putting his ears back and growling because he is taking it as another one of those subtle insinuations about the direction our personality has been tending toward…
It makes everything much uglier. And how telling is that word when I notice myself behaving differently about things than I used to? My fascination used to be with looking for and finding what could be me–in looking for what I could understand and identify with in a story because I was desperate to reach out and touch something that understood.

It’s not like that anymore. Now when I notice things and Wolf and I say to ourselves that those things could be us…they’re different things than they used to be. They’re not things I want to look at too closely.

It makes me worry sometimes, that for all my joking about it…maybe I am becoming a worse person. Steadily. Gradually. Bit by bit…

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