Sinners, Saints, and C-4 Explosives.
[Private to Mulciber]
We need to talk.
Meet me at noon quarter till noon. I would suggest wearing something that you do not mind getting dirty.
[/]

[Private to Walburga]
I found
Do you remember
There is a

Walbu
Bla
Oh fu

I have your necklace. The locket with the picture of you and your mother in it. I
I am not going to tell you, because then you will make me give it back.
Damn. This is pointless.
[/]

[Sally]
Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? There is something I wish to discuss with you. It is not anything bad, you need have no worry of such.
[/]

One must sometimes wonder at the strangeness of God and religion. What is it that permits us such an existence? So unnatural according to the words spoken through the bible. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" and yet here we stand, beings of power and a contrast to seemingly every written word. I grew up with the belief that magic was the touch of the Beast. Father was adamant about such things. One must always be strong to resist temptations, as we were born damned, and as such, were not as innocent as the muggles around us. We had to strive to do not a singular transgression. Whatever ill befell us was our own doing, for the simple crime of being born.

Sinners. Demons, he would sometimes say, brought from the very bowels of hell and shoved into a body of mortal skin. We were to try to prove ourselves capable of redemption, for we had promised God such. We had struck a bargain, you see -- we would show that we were worthy of God's Grace, should remove us from the pits of Hell which Lucifer had claimed our souls for. And were we to fail our test, we would be returned to our unhappy Master in the fiery core of the Earth, whom would ensure our fates were a million times worse than any human.

Perhaps it is why I so feared to die. I have been marked by my "gift", and have done nothing to prove that I am worthy of the kindness of the Lord normal men so quickly received - that of mercy and grace. The assumption that one muggle could live a life of sin and simply ask for forgiveness in those fleeting moments, and find a path to Heaven awaiting him on the other side. There was no savior for us. There was no hope. Should we speak back to our Father, or disrespect our Mother, we would never be forgiven. If our trousers were dirtied, we were to be returned to Hell.

I have lived a life of debauchery, shaming my Lord and doing naught but proving how truly worthy I am of the title of Demon.

Yet I do not feel like one.
I do not feel like much of anything at all, to be quite honest.

I believe my father's logic may have been flawed.