Come morning... He'll set the weapons aside. He prays they don't become comfortable in his grip. That familiarity doesn't set in. That when the weapons are put away, he'll be able to say he'll never touch them again. Even though he's said that before. Come morning... The townspeople will come by. Knock on his door and greet him with smiles of solace. They'll bring food. They'll bring gifts. They'll offer comfort and prayer. They'll assure him that everything will be okay. That he did the right thing. That the town appreciates and supports him more than they could ever say. Come morning... He'll wash the blood from his hands knowing vengenance is his now. That those that brought pain to him and those he love, to this town, have been paid in kind. Yet even as he walks, he knows no matter what happens this night, regardless of what blood is spilled or how many will eventually be grateful or punished, it really won't matter because... Come morning... She'll still be dead...