we just got back in.  my head is swimming.  i am not sure what to make of what i have seen.  i am not sure how to place it.  i am panicked, and thus am finding it a bit difficult to express myself with my typical verbosity.  now i know how hamlet felt on spying claudius, vulnerable and yet praying.  pity has stayed my hand and i must confess i loathe my weakness in observing it.

cheryl and i were out on a stroll.  i would like to say we were holding some ingenious reconnaissance, but in all veracity, we were simply getting some exercise.  i confess to be a bit of a homebody myself, my nigh-crippling ornithophobia being a chief factor in this.  she believed helios's brilliant flame would  bolster my constitution.

fortunately, the pleasant company and warm weather did not dull the edge of our vigilance, and we ducked into an alley before we could be spotted by our enemy.  caliban and sycorax.

they were not lurking, however.  not leading children to their doom.  converting and devouring the unwary.

they were eating ice cream.  they were smiling.  and laughing.  and i hate, i hate them so much for being able to laugh and smile with their loved ones they killed my cordelia they killed by parents and regan and goneril

but they were not killing.  as i watched, sycorax took a napkin and cleaned caliban's face.  with motherly love.  tenderness.  she lifted his spoon and fed him, with an earnest, loving expression.

but i must remember what they are, and they did well enough to remind me, for sycorax again lifted the spoon to caliban's lips and, just for a moment, a beaked head protruded from his mouth, long enough to get its own vile share of confection.

i must remember, even if their actions reach towards heaven, they themselves are below.

they are monsters.  the next i see them i must attempt to end them.

the appearance of love must merely be an affectation.  or perhaps it is a mechanism they use to obfuscate their own shame at what they are, what base creatures they are for allowing the holy temple of their corporeal form to be so desecrated by beasts.

but if it is true, if they are truly a mother and child, and behave thus...i think i hate them more.  i hate them for that purity they profess, when i have lost so much of my own heart, my own soul.  if they truly feel love....then i feel for them nothing but contempt.  if ever in my life i do a good deed on creatures such as they, no matter how they appear, i do repent it, on my very soul.