I can feel it.
When the sky is gray and stormclouds gather. When the wind is chilly and its very cry is that of pain and suffering. A cry that breaks a cold, hesitating silence.
And I know I am in the middle of all this. I have created all this. There is no fervour, no honour, in this hour. This is the deep breath before the plunging. I’m left only to wait and wish.
If there still remains a Father to run to I can only wish for it to be quick and done for. I pledge myself to the Hammer as I have since the beggining. If guilty, I am up for my pennance. But please have mercy upon those who are no direct harm. Let the weak live.
In the end, I can only be sorry. ‘Tis not the weather itself that kills me. It is the death it brings to those who cannot find the strength to remain by my side. Let the Hammer strike. Let judgement come.
A storm is coming. I must be prepared.