Fools.

You think as I once did. I see it here, plain to the eyes. I see it in
your titles, your honors, and your poetry.

You praise love. You sing of it as happy bliss. You lie.
Love means only one thing.
Love is pain�s prelude.
It is the harbinger of misery and anguish, but you ignore that.
Do so at your peril.
All that I have loved has been lost. Destroyed forever.
Many have been lost, but only those that we love will hurt us.
And they will hurt you. Today, tomorrow, or a year from now, they will
hurt you.
Those of you with any sense left will follow me to a place where the
pain can be lost.
A place within yourself where the sorrows and suffering can end.
Cut out your heart. Freeze it cold. Turn it to stone. Then look at the
world, and see how simple it is.
You live, you die, you do not love, and you do not suffer.
Come to the cold.
I await you there.
In the ice.


Penned by my hand on the 25th of Severin, in the year 127 MA.