Sign up to EliteSkills

You think you know the tale of old
Lovers lost and death won naught
Reunited in the reaper's claws
A happily-ever-after, as every story aught
To have

Let me shed a little light
Upon this fluffy tale dead
The hope and love, Fate's joyful cry
Is all a tale in your head-
A beloved illusion, shattered by screams

The bride, the corpse, she trailed a walk
Along the stormy river's soul
With every step, then, Sara shrieked
Every step tearing a hole
'Twas so painful, she cried-and none heard.

He died upon his bed that night
My sister walked before him.
A cloud hid the moon's eerie light
And when it left, he did, but
Nothing can compensate...

I hope she goes on River Styx
And to Elysian Fields
I hope the Furies lash him, slash
Until his cold soul yields
For what he did

I hope that dagger lies with him
And that his wounds still sting
I hope that in those onyx clouds
Somewhere, seraphim sing
To my dear Sara

I hope, like her, that demon's doomed
To walk the river alone
I hope his wounds drain him like hers
And that he falls, at last, on the stone!
No-nothing could be enough!

Mother,

I write you from this cold cell to tell you this:
I do not regret.

I tell you, my heart is clear, though it still cries for his blood! I am glad I did it, for he would get no justice, no, not here where he grew up healthy and wealthy-and yearned for more. No amount of pain and suffering in this world could make him regret what he did enough-therefore, I sent him swiftly to his justice in the next.

It was not only how horribly he rid himself of her, Mother, nor how he took her gold and jewelry, then left her for dead. I can imagine her screaming his name, our names, God's name, begging for help as she forced herself up and half-walked, then crawled, then fell upon the river-bank. I can see her pure, snow-white dress stained with her precious, innocent blood-ah, she was no saint, but she was so close. No, it is not only how he did it. It is the very fact that he DID.

To have a beloved illusion shattered by dreams-'twas so painful, she cried-and none heard! Nothing can compensate for what he did to my dear Sara. No, nothing could be enough!

I ask you not to forgive. There is aught to forgive.

I ask you, please, understand.

Your daughter,

Helena