The sun rose this morning. It was red, like blood. Like the blood on me.
On my hands, on my clothes, on my sword, on my knives.
I don't want to wash it off anymore. In fact, I want more of it.
The sight, the smell, the feel, the taste of the blood. Even the sound of it splattering on the ground. All of it.
It's so delightful, so fulfilling.
Now I know why Darby enjoyed what he did.
As of today, the score is: