With the aid of Good Ben Stokes, I attempted to see Sarah once more, and this time she did not hide. In her sick-bed, as she grew as cold as I, she held me and told me that she would love me forever.
I do believe that it is the last time I shall ever hear those words. And without her in my life to say them, what else matters? When I would vow to fight for the Collins family, I now realize that my vow was for her, the best of us all. I will never be worthy of your love, dearest sister.
My dearest love. And in death, she finds rest and in death, I am cursed to live.
Live? What a mockery I make of that word. I am dead, and nothing lives except the hatred inside me.
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This is poetry.
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