I, alone, attend his burial.
There was no funeral. No one mourns his death -- many celebrate it -- but as his daughter I am here.
They say he asked for me, near the end, but I didn't go to him. The frail, wasted man that lay dying in exile bore no more resemblance to the father I remember, than did the tyrant who ordered the deaths of so many.
Everything of him dies today. I have a new life -- a new name, and when I leave here, I will never look back.
"I hate you," I whisper, through tears of grief.