Tomorrow you die. It is my duty to kill you.

I have tried to find a way around it, but there is none. My soul has beseeched the powers of the universe for relief and found it not. You must die at my hands.

I hope that you will understand. I hope that you will forgive me. But that is no matter in the final analysis. Whether you understand, or forgive, or agree that death is necessary ... these things will matter not. They will change nothing.

You must die. I must be the one to kill you.

I do not know why the gods chose me for this task. I only know that the mission exists and I must serve it. I am the instrument they place in your path.

I ask that they walk beside me and grant me the means to bring the end mercifully. I ask that they bless you and light your way with love. And that they accompany you as you go forward from this release.

There is no punishment inherent in this act. It is important that you know that. The gods are not slapping your hand for some imagined wrong. You have brought yourself to this moment for a reason known only to you. In that sense, the gods themselves are your servants.

And I, theirs.

Tomorrow I shall kill you. You expect me to approach with a blessing in my hands. Instead, I shall hold a silver blade to thrust into your heart. There will be no pleasure as I plunge it thusly. Only sorrow for this chosen one.

There will be tears.

Tears are the holy water I shall employ to wash my soul clean. They are the river of forgetfulness that we shall henceforth travel. They are the last thing connecting my heart and yours.

For tomorrow, you die.

And I must be the one to kill you.