Chapter Text
172 XXXXXX Drive
Paris
29th October 1967
My Dear Vincent,
I do not regret what I did. You deserve the damage that was inflicted upon you. It was a miracle the hospital was able to save you but I regret not making sure you died.
You deserve to rot in whatever hell Satan had planned for you and to burn for all of eternity. I’m both relieved and drowning in grief of what crime I committed that caused your last breath; and yet, I’ll still attend your funeral and tear up when I sneak this letter into your cold, ghastly, and scarred hair out of sympathy and pity for your tragic demise.
I’ll introduce myself to your parents as your friend, since they would’ve killed me on the spot if they knew that I brought your downfall like an angel to a dictator. I should raise my ego. I don’t forgive you. I hate you for what you did. Yet, I’m still conflicted.
But even then I’ll still say that I love you. I’m man enough to admit that I always did. And I hate that I hate that I love you.
Regards,
Rody.
