He is, after all my child, you know. I birthed him at a young age, when I, in fact, was but a child myself. And nurtured him through the years.
He, like David's Absolom, killed his half-brother called Hope. Then raped my concubines Inspiration, Virtue and finally Love. But I forgave him time and time again.
Now, I feel, we are at an impasse. His troops are poised against mine and the final battle is nigh.
But it pains me so, as I am so entranced by my fondness for him. He is my sweet baby. My precious one. My fair-haired wonder. He pretends to be my loving son but his actions are not more than what I'd expect of my worst foe.
How will I ever find joy again once I slay him in Ephraim Wood?
Or, perhaps, he shall slay me.