I will weep no more for the lost, asleep in their bloody graves. I have no more tears for my previous life, all I once knew was gone, and I shall never get it back. Life is still strong in me and I will not grieve for what was of might have been.
I have chosen my path, no matter what anybody says, I was not mislead, I was not tricked. I had fallen helplessly, hopelessly, recklessly, in love with him and hw with I.
No matter what they say I will always love him, no mater what they do I will be his forever. They'll be no other after him.
But as I look out into the bloodstained field below me, I cannot help but gaze in awe at what a few weeks ago was a beautiful field of corn rippling like a golden sea; all broken, in now a sea of what could only be called butchery for they had no chance for life.
I gently caress my swollen stomach, as if hiding the awful view from my babe. We shall have to leave soon; or else I fear, I will wake up with a sword sliced through my stomach. I do not want that. I shall rather die, than see my baby cold and lifeless in my arms.
Somehow, I know. I know my future is bleak. I shall die protecting him, and I am willing with all my might. I must sneak out tonight, better now then later, being I'm already I my sixth month; my stomach over the size of a basketball.
I will write my life for my son, to read when he was all grown up; telling him all about his amazing father and his mother. Telling him how much I am sorry I wasn't there his life.
So I sit here with my feather, dipping it into the dark, almost crimson liquid I begin to write. With every word I feel as if I am sealing my fate with death, and I push on.
It begins as, My name, my son, is Izaoi and I love you very much.