Animo adflicto, denique dolor corporem superavit et nauta ab nebula spectrorum cinctus erat. Omnes gesserunt faciem recognitam, et cum aciebus cordem inciderunt. Sciebat hos bene; sui ores aquam notam in palpebra. Illo momento sapere salem in lingua et sentire oppressum in pectore poterat. Et chorus spectrorum cecinerunt:
“O male vire, te mors sequitur, calamitas ducet. Nos, sepultos spes puerilis gloriae, contorquemus fundo maris, nam nulla requies in vestigiis tuis, nulla pax in caede tuo.
O male vire, ita carnem respondeat animum, unus cicatrix per quamque vitam correptam. Nunc sceleres insigniunt; superbia tua libido tua ferocitas tua proferunt ab falsa virtute.
O male vire, nunc custodes angeli sumus. Cum umbonibus tuos adversos protegemus; cum ferris concidemus. Sumus occulos caeli et te cadere videbimus. Deus insidiam tuam donet, nam castigabimus.
Sceleres reddita sint, tamen cicatrices manebunt.”
His spirit broken, the pain finally overcame his body and he was enveloped in a cloud of apparitions. Each wore a familiar face, and with piercing gazes, they cut into his heart. He knew these men well; their faces were watermarks on his eyelids. For that moment, he could taste the salt on his tongue and feel the pressure on his breast. And then the spectral chorus sang:
“O wicked man, death follows you while calamity leads. We, the sunken dreams of childhood ambition, writhe on the sea floor, for there is no rest in your wake, no peace in your murder.
So wicked man, may your flesh answer to your soul, one scar for each life stolen. Now, your crimes mark you; your hubris, your lust, your arrogance are revealed through your false courage.
O wicked man, we are your guardian angels now. With our shields we will protect your enemies; with our swords we will cut you down. We are the eyes of heaven and we will watch you fall. May God forgive your treacheries, for we will punish them.
Your sins may be repaid, but your scars will remain.”
I am the sailor. The light is my memory.
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