I always hoped... maybe my mother was innocent? Maybe part of me was... good? But then I met my mother. And I saw a killer. She was heartless. She was everything I hated! She was... My mother was me.
I look at her, and I see what I was. What I am, and what I will become! I cannot love her because I do not love those parts of me. I love her because she is those parts of me. How does that make sense?!