(no subject)
There was once a time I might have destroyed anyone who sought to betray me.
My family didn't prove strong enough to end me, so they chose to remove both me and their shame from their lives. Chains were wrapped permanently around my coffin during the day, leaving me awake and powerless during the evening hours. This was the ultimate act of betrayal, one lasting for over one-hundred and sixty years. Generations of my family came and went, were born and then perished as I was left struggling to break free of my prison. This act might have broken them, because never have I seen any portraits featuring a happy member of the Collins family. I am certain I sound smug in making this observation, but trust me when I tell you nothing can be further from the truth. Joshua and Naomi Collins were my parents. Their deaths wounded me as much as Sarah's, and I mourn all of them with an equal measure of sadness.
More importantly, I forgive them.