It came from nowhere. One moment, his lips upon my neck - the next, his
scarlet lifeforce decorating my apparel. Frozen and unable to react. The
rage within my breast awakens reflexes long forgotten.

In my mind, his murderers die, one by one upon the rack that I've
created. Their screams of agony ring in my ears, limbs severed and
mangled one by one. Their minds unraveled to their own fears and
nightmares.

I smile, knowing that should such a thing ever come to pass, someone's
despair could surpass my own. Or they would simply pass into oblivion,
forgotten to all but the most astute of chroniclers. Vengeance consumes
me, I am unable to see.

The haze slips insidiously around me...
...I awake, sweating, cold, alone...

My hands will never come clean.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Midsummer, in the year 126 MA.