She found the letter nailed to her door, pounded in with such force that she had little choice but to tear the paper out from under it. Whoever had hammered it in had done so with such force, it had bent the nail over itself, flattening the head into a frame freshly dented with nearly a dozen shallow craters much larger than the kind an ordinary sort of hammer might make. Neither the letter nor the damage around it had been there when she had left that morning.
With shaking hands, she unfolded the note.
Dear Daria
I have never believed in mercy, not for people like you. People, or whatever approximation your kind may be called, deserve no sentiment so human as mercy. You are vile, you are scum, you steal people away from everything they love and consume their souls like its nothing, and then wonder why their broken, empty corpses hate you for the crime.
I was one of yours, bitch.
I am writing this letter because I need you to know how I feel, I need you to know why I will do what I'm going to do.
It's because I hate you.
Because I will always hate you.
And because I hate you, I hope, with all my heart, that you will live.
I hope you see every day and every night, until every sunset becomes the same as every sunrise, I hope every today blurs into a mirror of of every yesterday and every tomorrow that comes after. I hope you lose count of the people you meet, I hope you remember just enough of them as the centuries pass by to wonder just how many others you forgot. I hope you build mansions, I hope you paste your face on billboards and adverts and magazines, so you can see it all fade and rot before you. I hope you grow old, and older. I hope your joints break from the weight of you on them, I hope you cry out in the middle of the ruins of a world gone empty for friends that have passed you by. I hope you beg for fucking death.
Because when you do, I will be there, and I will keep him from you. Forever and ever, no matter how much you regret it.
That's the price you pay for killing me.
Sincerely ----
There had been a name there, but by the time she got to the end, she found it gone, soft lead irreparably smeared beneath fingers gone damp with fear.