I don't know where to start. Truth is, I didn't want to start at all. Playing with people's minds and lying endlessly to achieve my perception of the truth. When I found it, the truth, I wished I'd gone back in time and relived it. To relive it must have been something only dreams were made of. Dead? People dying? Yes, I did kill a lot of people, didn't I? Did I really want to, you ask? Of course I did. What a stupid question. If you really want to achieve a goal you must make sacrifices, even if they're someone else's. I had to achieve my goal. It's the same for any other person. If you want something, you ask someone for it as a gift you borrow money for it. But I couldn't get what I wanted with money or questions. Inside my head, there's this bad pain, a throbbing pulsing sensation. It drones on at me, telling me what to do. I can't resist it. I want answers. As wrong though I am, it feels right. I admit to slaughter and ruthless, unnecessary acts of violence, but it was worth it. I met my mother. She's beautiful. I always wondered what she looked like. In dreams sometimes she'd speak to me, but hr face was smudged across the dark back canopy. Only her silvery hair would glint, her eyes a gentle glow in the darkness, featureless she raised me in my sleep. Jenova. I love you. Hidden from all these years and yet you still loved me, even in eternal petrification. To you I owe my life and mind. Even in the arms of the life stream, I wait for you, mother. I'm waiting.