Chapter Text
In revisiting my accounts of my year at Hampden, I find that in what I can only consider to be shame, or perhaps grief, I have been a bit selfish in the omission of certain accounts.
I suppose, at the time, I wanted to protect these memories from the scrutiny of a cruel world. Already the admission of a murder, the murder of our friend no less, applied quite a heavy weight to my psyche. The intensity of the sin that occurred, however, the crime of letting oneself get in too deep and going much too far to protect that depth, was too much to bear.
In a sense, I also wanted to keep these sacred moments close to my heart. At the time of their occurrence they were entirely secret to everyone in our circles; the idea that any of them might have gone on in life, or died, not knowing a history that they were long overdue has eaten at my better judgment for much too long.
In truth I do not know if the intended audience will even see this. By the time anyone sees this, those concerned will have already received an explanation, but whether they get the chance to see – or even desire to – is beyond my control.
I simply do not want to leave this world without someone, anyone, knowing the full story.