It's cold.

I feel sick.

And I feel very, very calm.

The trembling has stopped.

And whoever is in my way better move real quick because I'm not in the mood to ask nicely.

I won't talk to you. I'll just look at you. And you can see, right there in my eye, the hatred.

One wrong move from you, and you will live that icey hell I've harboured my whole life. You will feel all of the pain that I had to feel over all these years, all condensed into one glorious experience. And you will cry.

And it will be a glorious experience. It will be pure ecstasy, all that ice running through my chest will sublime and I will be a wild animal; I will be my father, and you will be my wife.

And you will cry.