It has not been possible for me to write this letter before now. I shall never get over the shock and I don't particularly want to. The memory of her murder at my hands in cold blood still haunts me to this day. I can still feel the hilt of the sword in my hand and the weight of her body as I held her in my grasp on final time. My hands will never wash away the stain of the blood, her blood and I don't want it to. I will never be able to forget what I did to her. I, who confessed to love her killed her because I was too obsessed with ambition and pride.
The way she reacted to my actions also has all the appearance of a kind of madness. The one thing in this world she did not want. She always tried to see the best in me, always tried to show me the good in me and who I was without the Sheriff, but it never lasted. The good I showed never did last. Once again whenever the Sheriff called I would follow blindly and not ask any questions. It was then I saw the disgust she had for me whenever I did what the Sheriff ordered. I saw the disappointment in her eyes and it was something I did not want to see. I wanted to make her happy, make her see that there was a good man in me. I did not want her to think that I was a cold-hearted monster who cared for nothing except for wealth and power.
We were utterly blind. We were both desperate, stupid, and proud. And the pride made us oblique. But everybody's a little bit like that and it needed only intelligence on my part to deal with it. I knew she was only using me to get what she wanted and I let her. She always knew that she could get me to do what she wanted, but what could I do? I loved her. So instead of informing the Sheriff I chose to help her, to protect her. How could I see her get condemned to death. She was the light in the Hell I was living in. The only hope I had left of maybe someday building a home.
Then it all went wrong. Time and time again she would betray my trust or I would follow the Sheriff's orders. All these things delayed the working of our reconciliation. I don't ever want to be forgiven. I know what I have done is unforgivable. I will never be able to forgive myself for what I have done. But if there is an eternity I am damned in it. I live in living Hell. There is no chance of redemption. Blood has been spilt too many times and at my hands. I have killed those I have loved. I will never be able to undo the past. I... I didn't know how to start this letter and now I don't know how to end it.