He spoke eloquently, and lucidly, like an entirely different person than before. His eyes were calm, and if one ignored the strange twitching of his cheeks as he spoke – a symptom of his prolonged habits as a madman – then his handsomeness shone through. He even seemed like a model intellectual.
The motivation for that sudden bit of sanity was right in front of him, as he recalled the reason why he was there in the first place. More power – that was always the answer. Or at least, now that he was in the position he was in, that was the solution. Before it was more knowledge, cleverer solutions, different angles. But the game was done – he'd done all his planning.
The villagers felt themselves exhausted after a night of battle, several lifetimes worth of struggle. But for Francis, it was even longer. Years upon years of maddening pursuit had led to that which he now saw in front of. To dare to hope for an end to it all, perhaps that was what fed his madness.
