I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM.. HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE STARFLIGHT SINCE I BEGAN TO READ WINGS OF FIRE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF BLOOMING GARDENS IN INFINITELY THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY SOUL. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR STARFLIGHT AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE. HIM GETTING BLINDED WAS NOT ENOUGH. I. NEED. HIM. DEAD.

HE NEEDS TO SUFFER THROUGH EACH AND EVERY LAYER OF HELL WITH THAT FUCKASS EXPRESSION, AND IT WOULDN’T BE 1/92737268273919634529 OF THE PAYMENT THROUGH BLOOD AND AGONY I WOULD NEED TO FORGIVE HIM FOR EXISTING.