The misery of pitying the villain. To know the crimes committed, to understand the brutality, to witness the horrors unleashed, and yet love unconditionally. That is the inherent flaw of the human design.
That pity is inevitable. That underserved love is inevitable. So is the disgust one feels for themselves. In understanding that they aren't above such basal thoughts and emotions.
In a child's world, the bad and the good pave parallel paths, destined to never meet. He happily skips across his chosen path, his gait light and his eyes firmly believing in glass-like convictions.
Yet one day those parallel paths transform before the child's eyes, and intertwine to form a distorted fork. The crimes on one side, the sacrifices on the other. The brutality on one side and the tenderness on the other. The horrors on one side and the beauty on the other. The glass shatters into a million tiny shards, adorning the disfigured fork in glitters and tears.
Paralyzed from ever choosing a path, the man's eyes dull by the realisation, that he too has been trapped on the forked road. So was the man before him. And so will be the child after him.
To love the villan, is man's greatest tragedy.