Well, Lamentations. After years and years, you are the first man to deal me a true wound. Not deep enough, but deeper than anybody else. You were always so intelligent, so clever. It’s why you used to be my favorite.

You looked so happy, the moment before you brought the cleaver down. Relieved, as if an indelible weight had finally been lifted from you. You never had the stomach for the abattoir, but you were so determined. You were so sweet.

You said God called you to destroy me. If you truly believe that, then perhaps, one day, understanding may fall upon you. Understanding and regret. The call to annihilate the irredeemable is compelling, isn’t it? So much that you never consider whether you might have erred at some point. In this time and place and form, I suppose I have little to do than consider whether I might’ve erred, whether it was truly the right time for Vance Bean to have died under a dozen hooves. One day, perhaps, this time will come to you, and you will face the choice I did. Part of me would be proud if it never does, if you stay this stubborn in your conviction until the day you die. That would mean you learned something from me, at the end of it all.

I hope God will forgive you for this, because I know you won’t.