I killed them, Fourteen children all Hallowed, in front of their parents, also Hallowed. The parents sadness was beautiful. I killed the first one by simply shooting her and letting her bleed out. Her Mother nearly unhallowed herself, or so it seemed, in response. She was helpless to save her daughter, and the look in her eyes was of utter despair and hatred. The second child, I killed with a hammer, beating him until his skull cracked open. Then I smashed his brain. His Mother and Father reacted similarly. I spoon fed bits of the smashed brain to both of them. The third child was killed not by me, but on my orders. I handed her father a knife, a rather dull one, and told him to rip her apart. His weeping was the most sublime music ever composed by man. He begged me to allow him to stop, but I did not.
I fed the remains of the fallen fourteen to more of the Hallowed Children. Reality is going away. The sky burns, the water is blood, the leaves are black. Ever changing, ever flowing, ever growing. The trees see without eyes. In the embrace of the trees I found comfort. When I die, I shall join the forest with the rest. Peaceful eternity.