Regret is an ugly thing, and for one so accustomed -- so deserving -- of beauty, it is a hideous ghost that haunts me mercilessly; my affection for my brother is genuine (for one such as I am incapable of manufacturing anything as gauche as false emotions), as are my attempts to gain his... well, if not his forgiveness then something enough like forgiveness, I hope.
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Regret is an ugly thing, and for one so accustomed -- so deserving -- of beauty, it is a hideous ghost that haunts me mercilessly; my affection for my brother is genuine (for one such as I am incapable of manufacturing anything as gauche as false emotions), as are my attempts to gain his... well, if not his forgiveness then something enough like forgiveness, I hope.