It took me a while to realize that I wept not for myself, but for you.  You, whom I loved as no other, have walked into a hell of your own creation and I tremble for the sorrows that await.  I can do nothing but watch you enter, knowing full well you are completely oblivious to the consequence. 

Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know.  But you wouldn’t believe me even if I warned you, so what’s the point?   You are determined to carry out your plan until the bitter end.  And that, I assure you, will play true:  It will be exceedingly bitter. 

You like to think yourself master of your domain, but it’s the domain that has mastered you.  You can’t help it, really.  You’re caught up in patterns upon patterns and not even aware of your true nature.  They hold you fast in a web that you’ll never escape because you refuse to acknowledge it.  But closing your eyes to fact doesn’t make it go away.  It will linger, growing worse until it is addressed.

The day you discover it is the day I dread.  There will be no one to help you past the despair and self-loathing because I will be gone.  I will not watch you implode.  I will not stand witness to your self-defeating schemes; you have plenty of others for that task.

Instead I mourn for you now, for all that you’ve lost and for the test you failed to pass.  It may be millenia before we meet again and you will feel that expanse of time acutely.  I wish I could help you, my dearest, but you’ve made your decision.  Take these flowers before you go; I don’t want to see you lie in that grave alone.



  1. Touche, Madame!

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