The sun is setting as the rain falls against the roof of the villa, the candle flicking dim within the bone window. The wife is pattering about trying to figure out what may come next of her heresy. She asks me, I'm uncaring in trying to help figure it out. Many things happen that I know you see or you'd not entrusted me to look and listen to everything, so that you may know what comes to pass. We grow in numbers, the deaths come, but they do not stay. As I know that you see all, my question to you is this...are you proud? Are you proud of what we are accomplishing? They are afraid, they are scared, they do not know what many come next.

I do believe that every time the wind blows they jump, when something goes bump in the night, they make sure their children are safe and the doors are locked. The pools of blood have gathered frequent with the clattering of bleached bones. The body parts consumed so much like a chubby child attacking a bag of candy. Do you see it all? Your work that we are continuing, your teachings I am passing on. They are learning well, they are ready, perhaps even more ready than I was when the ichor filled my body and consumed my soul.

The candle near completely out of flame as I continue to write, the wind howling in the storm that brews outside. There is a storm brewing in me as well, you know this, you saw it, you chose me, you warned me 'do not lose your mettle girl'. I have not, it is stronger than ever, I am stronger. I am relentless, they are relentless. But the chaos, it will not be contained. It is time, I know it's time, you know it's time, and there will be no turning back. What am I saying, there is already no turning back. There is only commanding to go forward, with vigor. Their throats slashed, their blood running in the street, their faces burning with acid.

But I ask you again....are you proud?




I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Warren.