Oh, Edina;
In life, you birthed me,
In death you shall complete me.
As I grip the axe of the lumberman, tainted by the blood of the baker, the first instrument of torture is clearly revealed to you.
My blow strikes off your hands;
The very hands which taught me violence.
As they part your physique for all eternity, my efforts are rewarded with a cheer from the Netherworld, summoned by your vocal cords.
Hear, o daemon realm; this is the song of her misery at my hand. The very tongue which taught me words of contempt now begs me for mercy.
I revel in the melody.
As I grip the rusty dagger, tainted by the blood of the fletcher, the second instrument of torture is clearly revealed to you.
Your mouth is forced open by my gauntlet, and I carve away your tongue, for actions speak louder than words.
Your curses become but wails of agony, as blood overflows your throat.
The very eyes which looked upon me with hatred now shed streams of tears, mourning your pain. By elegant motions, they too are liberated from your wretched body.
As I grip the pliers corrupted by the suffering of my victims, the third instrument of torture is not revealed to you, for you can no longer see.
And as I turn to you, in order to tear away the teeth from within your mouth, it appears you have fainted.
Although, this will not stop me from accomplishing my goal… these instruments were merely the angels of my will, and manifestations of my resolve.
My hands reach up onto your head, and your spine twists, giving way to my indomitable strength.
The transition into the spirit world begins, and you shall enter crippled. My self is unburdened from your detestable individuality, at long last.
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