“What sense could there even be to watching me?” He wanted to remember her. Everything about her. He wanted everything about her engraved on his skin, for the ink to take root on his bones, for them to feed into his marrow. Her entire life was gone somehow except the end. There wasn’t a single trace of her anywhere. If not for her hate, he would have never found her, he wouldn’t have borne witness of her end, of what drove her to her end.
