Before continuing, he goes up to the top of the document and conscientiously adds a content warning for graphic descriptions of pervasive emotional trauma. Then he proceeds, with an intense little smile, to write.

You feel an inescapable, overwhelming loneliness. You feel an inescapable, intolerable self-loathing. You feel that you are unable to experience joy, and wouldn't deserve to if you could. You feel that nothing you can accomplish will ever make it acceptable that you exist. You feel that the very substance of your body and soul is stained with an irreparable wrongness. You feel that no one loves you, nor ever will. You feel that if things had been different, you could have been a person, but by the whims of fate you are a monster instead. You feel that never except through death will you be free of your fundamental brokenness. You feel that everyone who looks at you is staring in pity or disgust; often you feel it because it is true.

No wonder he decided evil plots were his best way forward. They didn't have licensed therapists in fifteenth-century England.