When you worked with me, and swore to help the cause, I whispered to you a promise. The promise that I would love you forever. It made you smile in the way you only ever did for me- smaller, but so much brighter than the radiant grin you showed the rest of the world.
You regretted your decision, turned against us; refused to give us the names we so desperately needed. You ran independent, making us hunt you, forcing yourself into the role of our enemy.
You married that fop, that idiot, that complete nincompoop, and paraded him in front of the world, in front of me. You cooed on his arm as he rambled idiotic limericks, knowing that I was not far. That I saw.
But you did not care.
You snubbed me, publicly and privately, humiliating me on every occasion. It didn't matter, I came back for more, constantly, constantly.
I used to love hearing you say my name. Now there was a chilling bitterness in every syllable, a scornful disgust that enveloped every vowel.
You took the memory of my name and made it hurt. All my memories of you became painful things; turning my throat raw, my stomach rancid at just the thought of them.
Many people say many things about me. Most of them are true. You lead the pack, spewing thinly veiled hate, swearing revenge.
But of all the things said of me...
Everyone knows I never break a promise.