whisperslow: (This guilty stuff is new. I hate it.)
I must admit something to you. About my blood.

It is addictive to mortals. Far more addictive than any substance I have seen in my three-hundred-forty years. When I returned to this wretched place---

[There's several things scratched through here. Some are somewhat legible, most of them aren't. Legible words would include "need."]

My first offer to give it to you was not of any noble intention. And I knew that you would become mine again. My pet, my slave. I turned you, you were mine.

I have spent these last months confused h confused un "confused," as you mortals would put it. I turned you and that was my error. You came freely to me after my time as a child and you did not take advantage.

When I freed you from that room within a room, I gave you my blood with only the intention to save you. By now it is likely, though, impossible to prove this to you. Your warden

I do not expect to be believed.

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Armand

February 2011

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