i feel pretty comfortable believing that emilio was sainted, in heaven if not on earth, and up to the end of his travels, he seemed to have had a delightful life, at times only bearable, being without his companions, but still not without purpose.
it's amazing how terribly comforting my life is now in comparison to the fictional lives i'm so attached to.
1 fighting evil 7 times more experienced than himself
1 fighting himself violently over a good faith gone bad
many trapped on a island with constant mystery and apparent danger
2 outnumbered, in the constant company of pure evil, and only saved by the pure goodness emanating from their own innocent hearts
perhaps this is why work seems so monotonous lately... not that i'm complaining
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