Different shreds of the same fabric (Patreon)

I adore my sarcastic MCs, using words and quips like daggers and pocking the world until, eventually, the world can't help but poke back. I love my stoic ones, the ones whose real thoughts are as much a mystery as the constellations shining in the sky. They face everyone from behind a stone wall, impregnable but for a few.

I love the exact opposite too, those that can't — and don't want to — hide even a shred of who they are. The ones who frown when they see an injustice, who laugh when someone trips, who talk with their hands, whose voice has all the nuance of the human language.

And then, of course, I admire those with endless patience. The ones whose smile is genuine when they meet a stranger, whose coin purse is loose for those in need, who truly believe, deep in their soul, that the world is bleak enough and one must thrive to make it less so. To make it brighter.

I adore them all.

But sometimes, sometimes, there's nothing more cathartic than writing the ones who let absolute, white-hot, seething fury consume them. The ones who not only fight but slam against the world. The ones who see red, and taste red, and by God, they'll paint in red too.

Your burning palm be damned. Consequences be damned.

It's such a joy to write too.