They called me the Black Widow. They accused me of doing horrible things, cruel things. They hated me and despised me. But, before you do the same, I would like to clarify a few things. I would like to tell you my story.
My story starts in 1903, Bucharest. My story starts and ends with love. Love. Love hurts. If anyone ever told you something different then they are completely and foolishly wrong. Love hurts.
My share of heartache started at a very young age. I lost my mother when I was very young and I was forced to live far away from my father when I needed him the most. I sought love and comfort in the arms of older men trying to compensate for my incomplete heart. I failed miserably and it only brought me pain. I loved many, especially Karl and Joseph but all of them broke my heart. How many times must a heart be broken for a woman to realise that love is the enemy?
What I did was not an act of hatred, but one out of pure love. I didn’t want others to suffer as much as I did. I only wanted to protect them, shelter their fragile hearts from the harsh knives of the world surrounding them. You see, my love was pure but the so called love given by the rest of the world was not. I knew my love was pure. I knew that only I was able to do the things I did because I was the only one who could actually understand love.
I don’t think I should have been condemned for all those men. After all, I loved all of them, one by one. Milorad was special but I loved them all. I wanted to protect them. I couldn’t stand the thought of them going in the arms of another woman, seeking the love I had once offered them and then have their little hearts broken. I couldn’t let them suffer as much as I did. So I only did what was normal…what was necessary to protect them from ever getting hurt. I only did it because I loved them.
Lorenzo, my son, I loved him just like I loved all the men in my life. My son was ten years old when I started being afraid that he might have his heart broken once he had grown up. I didn’t want him to suffer. You should have seen him. He was so beautiful and I knew that one day he would turn out to be a handsome and charming young man. I didn’t want the world to ruin him. I didn’t want him to die of a broken heart. So I ended it before it was too late. I did it for love.
You must understand because no one else does, love hurts. Love truly hurts. The only way to protect your heart is to stop it from beating. I didn’t want that. I wanted to leave my heart vulnerable. I was strong, I was used to the pain. But I couldn’t let the ones I loved get hurt. I only did what you, all of you, would never dare, what you are too scared to do, what all of you would only dream of doing.
Perhaps now you know a little more about me and will think twice before judging me.
For those of you who do not know her, Vera Renczi, also known as The Black Widow (‘Vaduva Neagra’) was a Romanian/Hungarian serial killer. She killed 35 men including her son and husbands by poisoning them with arsenic. The police found the bodies in her wine cellar, each put in his own unburied coffin.
Story by Niguanta of Romania
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