She had come to me after an evening in the Prancing Pony one evening as I sank my sorrows, why could she not have stayed away. I have got myself into a terrible mess. There are conflicting voices within my mind again.
I did not mean to kill him. It was a chance encounter on the road. He took a disliking to my straw hair, He made a joke that cut a little too deeply. The insults came thick and fast from him. I spoke frankly, told him the circumstance of the day. Told him that I didn't need this right now. I warned him. But he laughed, I can still hear that laugh. Good. She probably deserved to die, your woman. After being tainted by you he said. I was seething for vengeance, the voices were growing louder. I needed to kill... I needed to hurt something.
Against my better judgement, against my reason appealing for calm within my mind. The man's little sister giving him a good telling off for his words. He would not relent, but I did. I gave in to the urges. The calmness within me, the rationale. It dissipated. Instinct took over. Anger, burning anger. Lashing out.
I don't even remember the man's face as I cut his throat. It is all a blur to me. But what I do remember is her doe-eyed face, milky white. Her raven black hair. Screaming, screaming in fear. You killed him. You killed my brother. She shrieked. I'm assuming for all her brother was a prick she did not want him dead.
The road was deathly quiet, nobody heard her screams. I knocked her out. Brought her to my house. There was no other choice. She had seen me. She had seen a monster. The monster that dwells within me. Unseen.
You might say, I have a dilemma. A voice whispers in my ear. She is innocent, cursed only by her unwitting association. To do this would be wrong. As much as it needs to be done. Do I feel remorse for the man? I'm not sure. I am certain he didn't deserve it. I do not want to think of it. Yet her face, reflected back at me as it is in sheer terror. Is that me she's seeing?
Another voice tells me a different tale.
It has to be done.
But does she deserve it? I don't know. It's too late. It's done. I can never let another see the real me ever again and live to tell the tale.
And I can't let her go.
I have a dilemma, poor reader.
