One never realizes the consequences of a simple action. At least I never had. After the war I spent my life with regret looming upon my like a second shadow. With every shaking breath my soul burned with the memory. People tell you that life gets better but how can life get better when you murdered something so broken and dark, when you murdered something you should have saved. I killed Tyrannus Basilton the only other being in this world who was like me. As time rolled by and the years ticked away I have solely destroyed any happiness that may have come to me, my lovely and brilliant Penelope after years of watching my suffer could stand by no more. With a dull throb in my chest and whiskey on my breath I watched her drift farther and farther away. I was lost in a see of my own ruin and I left my lifeboat on the shore. If someone from my past where to see me an outstanding amount of pity burned through their disgusted eyes and bore down judgment. My once shining eyes reflected the colour of death. I was no longer the outstanding young boy full of arrogance but an ageing man with a inflicted soul. I tell you all this now because nothing is without an ending. Years in a drunken haze I sought out those with the darkest of hearts looking for away to fix what I had done. I felt the warmth of life upon my hands as I trembled with what I had done. With the life of my precious pet sacrificed in vain I had now two lives burning into my soul. Simon with a shaky hand lifted a dark brown bottled to chapped lips, setting his quill to rest as he breathed with deep terrified breaths. In his mind he called himself a foul coward and thus continued to write. Now sitting here in the end I find myself struggling to do what is right, to fix the wrongs of my past with one final moment. I am going to defeat the last monster, fight the last ghost and bring it all to rest. Within those last moments not a single soul heard the last battle of Simon Snow. No one was there to hear his lungs overrun with blood. Our young protagonist had won and last his greatest fight, the fight against himself. After what seemed to be a few days Simon Snow the boy who saved us all was found within the old cottage down the hill from his only home, Watford School of Magicks. A daring first year proudly wearing his green crest upon the breast of his robes waltzed right into the haunted cottage, his fourth year companions snickering with a fiendish delight. The daring first year strolled in with a lions confidence unsuspecting to the horror he would stumble upon. With much horror and dismay a frightful cry can howling out of his paled body. Professors of all sorts came from up the hill to face the horror which afflicted their students, the end of Simon Snow, the colourless shell that stained the world with its wretched presence. If Simon Snow had one thing right it was that all things do come to an end.
