You stayed with me, believed in me, worked with me and... well, I don’t think I can say “pushed†me but you were there by my side. I trusted you—we were on the same page, had the same beliefs— people said we were crazy for marrying so young but we were ready—at least, I know I was, and I still am, and I thought you were ready too, ready to fight with each other side by side until death separates us, ready to conquer every tribulation and problem, ready to push each other and work on changing together. I thought we were together. But instead the bride sold out the groom, called him blasphemous and heretical, saying the groom had been telling lies for years, and she colluded with the enemy, gave ear to demons and snakes, sold out the groom for silver, cheated on him with another man, gave the kiss of death on his cheek, and sentenced him. All the treasure in the world so brightly, thirty pieces of silver shining—tell me, what’s the price you seek? I never knew until now that every kiss she gave was a kiss of death, and each kiss sucked away my vitality, drained me like Cate Beckinsale in Underworld, a vampire stealing my life and breath, stealing everything I have to give— she is not the Other, demanding all my finite resource to satisfy an infinite need because she didn’t demand—she only took, stole. The betrayal is sharper than any two-edged sword, splitting me in half, eviscerating me, pulling me apart at my seams, gouging out my eyes, digging out my kidneys and liver, rending out my heart, preparing a human sacrifice out of me, giving me to the Pharisees, letting me be taken by the Romans, innocent before Pontius but guilty before the people, and after being condemned she whips my back herself, the cat-o-nine-tails tearing my back like paper being ripped apart, and she places the crown of thorns upon my brow, whispers, “My king,†mocking me as if I was never her king, forces me to carry my anger and my cross to the hill of the skull, where she drives in the nails herself— one in each of my wrists and one through my feet— she hauls the cross upright where I slowly suffocate unless I painfully push myself up on the nails, but she already broke my legs before I could do that—and I know I have done wrong, and I am sorry for what I did, but crucifying me to absolve your guilt is still far worse than anything I did, and I don’t know if I have the strength to show you love and to forgive as the One Who actually died on the cross showed love and mercy, granting mercy to all no matter how great a sin they committed, but as for me I hope you rot in the icy breath of one of the mouths of Lucifer in the deepest abyss of the last ring of hell next to Judas