Undoing.

I've been to this concert, because of you.

I was in anguish for a while.

Now you get your ticket.
Only, I'm the conductor this time.
This whole undoing of you is my perfectly synchronized orchestra.
Your time may be just about at hand.
It's been months, and you finally thought you were safe.

You're not.
I've waited.

Now, my waiting has brought me luck.
The perfect instruments have fallen into the hands of my performers.
They know the songs, the bows of the cellos and violins shall cut you as deep as they did me.
And deeper still.

I've set the stage, and now we shall see how well this production takes flight.
With any luck, when the last note is struck, you will be broken.

It's not that I'm still hurt, the veins of this pantomime run with principle and vengeance.

I want to make you suffer.

And it's so beautiful; a much more finessed performance, playing the same song as you did in your pitiful rehearsal.

I shall enjoy my work's completion, even if it happens without the instruments.