Why? Why did this have to happen? Why didn't you listen to me?
I tried so hard to warn you. I tried so hard to keep you from repeating history. Why did I have to fail?
"How many fingers am I holding up?" I kept asking you that, kept praying that it hadn't yet come to pass. Each time, you answered correctly, lifted my spirits, gave me the hope that perhaps I could change fate. If we could make it this far... If things could be going this well... I thought maybe, just maybe, I could save you from the darkness your future held.
But I failed. And I failed miserably.
If only I hadn't tried to be the hero in that accursed annex. If only I hadn't pulled my gun on the Thing. If only I hadn't lost my glasses, my Texas.
If none of that had happened, you wouldn't have gone down there. You wouldn't have tried to be a hero. You wouldn't have overexerted yourself, wouldn't have used too much magic.
You would still be able to see.
You were right earlier; I should have talked to you. I should have told you everything. I shouldn't have kept it bottled up inside, tried to carry the burden by myself and be the only hero. Didn't I learn anything from Italy?
But I did it anyways. I stupidly refrained from sharing my anxieties with you, kept myself from simply asking you not to push yourself too hard.
And because of that, those emerald irises of yours have turned foggy. You stare straight ahead, unable to see what's in front of you, all because of my mistake.
It wasn't worth it! You shouldn't have gone after that Thing! Why should you have sacrificed your sight just to make my own a shade clearer?
It's all my fault. I drove you to go down there. If you'd just stuck to being the gentleman, if you hadn't tried to be the hero, everything would still be alright. You would be able to answer my question. You would be able to walk without me guiding you.
You would be able to see the tears running down my face.
I don't care what you say, England; it's my fault. No matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise, I will always know this was my fault. Nothing and no one can change that.
And so, I will have to live with my regrets. I will have to lie awake at night, the guilt overwhelming me and running rampant in my brain.
That is my cross to bear.