It's hard to shake the feeling that I've messed up.  That I've opened my mouth when I shouldn't.  Even if I've made part of it right, I can't undo it.  The problem with most of my "crimes" is that they are done.  Finished.  I can't go back and edit out the little parts that I don't like, or delete them altogether.  Because of that, I'm not going to edit this, or ever delete it.  I don't feel I deserve such a thing.

The cathedral erupted in cheers and applause. I shouted and clapped along with everyone else, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“It had to be done, Conrad.”
My father had never looked so regal before, standing on the steps to the altar, the purple robe and heavy crown resting on his shoulders and head as if he’d been born to them. Smiling, he lifted one hand as if in benediction, and the cheering doubled in volume. It only began to die down when the trumpeters began to play a triumphant fanfare.