Magnificence is not a word I use lightly. But this was magnificent, better than the rest. I would have dared to think it was better than all to come, but that would rob me of hope. And after all, we can’t live without hope.

I was in my full glory, resplendant and powerful. I basked in the majesty of every stroke, every heave and whimper. Time slowed for the symphony of the act, the melody in every movement.

And the blood, oh the blood! I was reborn, washed over in the warmth of sixty-five hundred days, sixty-five hundred nights. Life washed over me, cleansed me of all sin, washed from me any evil men might cast upon my opus. It was glorious. It was right. The moment was all mine, alone again, but never alone, kept company by a host of souls.

And that’s when the cops burst in.

They ruin everything.

Phillistine spoilsports.