Death had been such a constant companion that for centuries he had just accepted its inevitable presence, turned off the piece of his mind that was sickened by his bringing it. Refusing to kill now—now, when it would be easier, when it would be considered by many to be justified—was freeing. As if he was in some small way breaking the shackles of his past self, reaffirming that life did matter. All life, not just the lives of the people he liked or needed.
