January 7th, 1492

My thoughts are becoming darker. I am becoming darker. I am almost cold inside when I kill now. I have no qualms about killing an evil mortal. A human, a waste of breath, had a knife to Mary’s throat, Philip was fighting three others. I took aim and shot him with my arrow straight and true into his eye. He was worshiping a demon. Better that he gone from the world. Mary told me my eyes went black and I smiled as I pulled the trigger. Maybe I did. I had no qualms at all. There was no hesitation in my actions. What is changing me?