Stop making me feel guilty. I can see you, in the mirror, reflected in a glass of water, looking back at me from any shiny surface. You’re always looking over my shoulder, reminding me of what I’ve done. And I don’t need that kind of guilt. Least of all from you.
I didn’t know you were a witch when I took your life. And I surely didn’t know that you’d curse the person who killed you. But isn’t it as much of a curse for you, doomed to spend the rest of my life haunting me in mirrors and reflections?
I’ve taken many lives over the years, put many people into the ground. Never once did I feel a sense of guilt, of remorse at what I’d done. That was one of the great perks of my psyche — no conscience. And I was good at what I did.
Until you. I marked you, followed you, stalked your every movement. And when I finally did the deed and separated your soul from your body, I had no idea your soul would then attach itself to me. If I’d known, I might have thought twice. And somehow, attaching your soul to mine, you’ve given me a sense of guilt, not just about your murder but of all the others, too.
I didn’t ask for a conscience. I was doing just fine without one, better than fine, even. But now your soul bleeds into mine, haunting me, tormenting me, and I don’t know how to be rid of you!
So, please stop making me feel guilty.
