12.3

There is no majesty in the taste of your blood, my dear friend. I never intended to hit you. But now that I have (or rather, now that you've thrust yourself directly into the force of me, destroying yourself in the process), I find a rather grim positivity. Your legs, splayed and frightening as you violated gravity, contained a puissant beauty. The soft morning air discovered you and the sound of your bones, an unbelievable symphony of one. And from a life of forgotten anonymity, friend, I have plucked you permanently. I will never forget my first kill.
Live forever, victim--perpetual friend.