The Deceiver

I'm sure my tale won't fall upon open ears. But if I write this before the water rises and I am lost forever, perhaps someone might gain a glimmer of insight into my tormented soul. I shan't claim to have a desire to be understood, but a desire to confess, certainly. I thought I made the right decision, as I am told is rather common. Regret, that is. Perhaps it was the right decision. Perhaps I was, accidentally, a nail in the coffin of evil, or perhaps I was fighting on the right side. My name, as it is known, is cursed in every tongue. I am the Deceiver, the Betrayer, the Defiler. They have many names for me. Perhaps, one day, they will be remembered not in hatred but in regret, sadness, resigned frustration. Those are the emotions that occur when anger cools. I, certainly, should know. You know who I am.

But, if you're slow and haven't caught on yet, you may refer to me by any of these four names (I don't respond to the Defiler): Mairon, Gorthaur, Annatar, or, if you still don't know who I am, Sauron.