I live in a land not of my sires or kindred. Longing for home, I am stationed here both as servant and as soldier. Near where I rest my head at night is a garden, fair and pure. In it lives a family fair and pure, a matriarch of beauty and dignity, and children of laughter and delight. In this garden I find peace and warmth, though the land surrounding is strange to me. Well-kept, full of light, the garden is heavy laden with fruit, good and drippingly sweet.
Tonight I think of that lovely garden and the family therein with a sad, heavy heart, as I am freshly reminded of the nearby and threatening presence of the Town of Vice. It is situated just across a small stream from my beloved garden. Tonight, returning from a brief journey in the service of the King of the land, I passed directly through Vice. Its menace was plain as I crossed lanes and boulevards of Lust and Temptation. Meant to be joyful and fair and modest, half-naked and hollowed women looked to me. Though the night was black and many asleep, they brazenly beckoned me to come to them and be devoured. Too often I have found myself drawn by the siren songs of forbidden women; yet tonight I was granted clear sight and keen hearing, to recognize the call for what it is, the call of death.
Many years ago my King, good King that He is, sat me down and gave me this instruction: