An apology

There was a tyrant once, aeons ago, who fancied himself a philosopher.  "Live with a man for 40 years," he wrote, "share his meals, sleeps in his house, speak with him on every subject.  Then, hold him over the mouth of a volcano, and on that day, you will truly know him."  Despite that particular king's bloodlust and lunacy, I am beginning to think he may have had some insight into the hearts and minds of men.

Very recently, I was held over the mouth of the volcano.  I did not like the man I met.

I have acted in a manner that is both cowardly and thoroughly dishonorable.  My name will bear the weight of my deeds for a very long time, if not forever.  I will not ask forgiveness, nor will I ask for another chance.  Neither of those things can be given; they must be earned.  I ask only one thing:

Please, do not allow my actions to blacken the names of my Kin.  My mistakes are mine alone, and I will accept whatever consequence I must.  But let those consequences fall upon my head and not upon those innocent of my crimes.