One second I hate her. The next second I hate myself. She was safe; when nobody else was safe, she was always safe. I could trust her; I thought I could always trust her.
I scrub and it doesn’t do anything. Why would it? I don’t own this body. It isn’t mine. It belongs to her and she wants me to feel this.
I destroyed the painting but every room is full of signs. Things. Everywhere. It makes so tired I want to cry. Nowhere is safe but the conservatory. Or the gardens. I could sleep in the gardens.
Sin begets sin, misery begets misery. I should have been alone for the rest of my life. I should have stayed alone. Instead I was selfish and this is the price. I have to do something. My face? No – I’ve already taken several scars and it hasn’t changed anything. I could go to the Order. Beg them to take me on despite my vows. Or I could be sure. Sure I never sinned again. The lash wasn’t enough. The knife… the knife might be…
I know my mind isn’t right. I know I have to stop thinking these things.
I don’t know what to do.
