[ For the longest time, Eustace doesn't answer, keeping his mouth shut as they march down the empty streets, their footfalls the sound noise to break an otherwise desolate silence. Odd, because while it certainly is quiet in Venera these days, it's not the type of silence that brings him any joy at all. How can it, when it comes at the price of so many lives lost?
He tells himself it's for something greater, that the casualties sustained here are more than worth the lives that will be made better. How many children will be able to grow up in the company of their families rather than in the company of strangers and their own bitter tears? He thinks of himself, of Misa, of Gray and the way her village had seen her as nothing more than a figurehead for their strange religious fervor.
But somewhere deep inside, his heart still wavers.
Eventually: ]
This is a war. There are always going to be casualties.
[ But he doesn't sound happy about what he says, his voice soft and brooding. ]
no subject
He tells himself it's for something greater, that the casualties sustained here are more than worth the lives that will be made better. How many children will be able to grow up in the company of their families rather than in the company of strangers and their own bitter tears? He thinks of himself, of Misa, of Gray and the way her village had seen her as nothing more than a figurehead for their strange religious fervor.
But somewhere deep inside, his heart still wavers.
Eventually: ]
This is a war. There are always going to be casualties.
[ But he doesn't sound happy about what he says, his voice soft and brooding. ]