My dear mother,

I cannot begin to describe to you the circumstances that have led up to this point; it is doubtful I would ever recount them for you, provided I knew where to start.

I never want to be a son you look upon in shame.

But…

…perhaps it is too late for that. As though heeding to the very beck and call of fate, I've become far more despicable than that man whom you feared. That very same poison blood of his flows through me, and no matter how I struggle against the chains of destiny I cannot escape the vile ichor which fuels the fire of my bloodlust. Though the blood of many has since replenished this stolen body in place of his, I still feel the itch, nay, the craving for repulsive misdeeds. I'm afraid, dear mother, that the fate of my disposition is bound to his, for I've been entirely unable to commit any action that did not first benefit myself, and I've been even less inclined to lend a kind hand to any I've encountered.

Though, I'm certain you know all this by now. I sometimes wish I'd inherited your softness, that kind heart that could never turn away one in need, no matter how foul or lowly the person. However, had I been like you, I would not be standing where I am today. I would be powerless before that grotesque father of mine still and would never have gathered the courage to rid the universe of his wretched presence. I would have lived a life of humiliating servitude, just as you had, and succumbed to the habits of a shameful alcoholic. Well, the latter has tragically come to fruition. It is a different substance which beckons my tongue, but that is nothing for you to worry about, my dear.

Any possibility of my black heart turning golden like yours disappeared the day you chose to leave this world. I am neither blaming you for my upbringing, mother, nor am I expressing any anger toward you. I do not blame you for taking the action to escape that man's abuse; I only lament that I could not follow you into the comforting embrace of death. After you left me, I became fearful of death. Perhaps because I knew there was no way I would ever join you in paradise, and I would face an eternity of torment with that dreadful father. It was this wariness of death—accompanied by my natural longing for power—that I believe set me on the path I am walking now. I've cast aside my humanity, mother, because I could not imagine an afterlife in which you weren't there. My heart raced when I thought of death and realized I would be sent to the same place as that man.

I could not, would not, stand for that fate. So, my dear mother, even if I am alone; even if that cursed Joestar bloodline tracks me to the ends of the earth; and even if my hands are to remain stained with the blood of innocents, I will persist. I will live. For I refuse to experience an afterlife worthy of the one who drove you to death. I refuse to be overcome.

I will never live under the thumb of oppression again. I may have become the oppressor, but that is well.

I am done living a life of regret, and I am not sorry for what I've done.

Farewell, and take care, mother.

Yours truly,

Dio Brando