I will definitely go to hell—definitely.
My God will prepare many punishments to wound my soul. But until that day comes, I want to love you, touch you, hold you, and feel you. Maybe the warmth of your hands will give me hope to live a little longer. Yes, I want to live more.
I know the mark of my bad karma returns. But before it arrives, I want to stay with you day and night. Who would have thought that I would desperately want someone? Yet your kindness runs far deeper than my ruthlessness.
Yes, I know you hate me. You want to destroy me, to erase my existence—and I promise I will help you do that. But before it happens, please hug me tightly.
Since childhood, I have felt cold everywhere, and I have only grown colder. But when you wrapped a scarf around my neck to keep me warm, your hand touched mine. It was so warm that I wanted to hold your hand at that moment—but I couldn’t.
Your eyes then were the eyes of a stranger. Those eyes held no hatred, no regret, no love, no pain, no fear—only distance. Even now, when you look at me with hatred, I am fine with it. At least now, you feel something for me.
Truly, I am a witch—a witch who has killed many people, who works under a powerful master, a witch who feels no pain, who holds a gun, whose love language is force, destruction, and murder. Still, I am not sorry. Because “sorry” is only a word, and my actions are the true definition of my remorse.
Yes, I am sick. I know. I know that very well.
But you—you are a gentleman. You know how to love, how to care, how to hold someone in your arms.
I know I do not deserve this. That is why I am begging you—begging before you with folded hands. Yes, I am a beggar for your love.
