The Only Death I Fear Is Dying

And Over It All, The Butterflies Swarmed, Like A Million Yellow-pettalled Flowers Dancing On Swirling Winds.

I Love You Still, But With Your Death I Succumbed To A Kind Of Infatuation. I Convinced Myself That What You And I Had, So Very Briefly, Was Of Far Vaster And Deeper Import Than It Truly Was. Of All The Weapons We Chose To Turn Upon Ourselves, Guilt Is The Sharpest, Silverfox. It Can Carve One's Own Past Into Unrecognizable Shapes, False Memories Leading To Beliefs That Sow All Kinds Of Obsessions.

Oh Yes, I Have Learned Much From Tremorlor, And So Assume A Like Strategy. Silence, A Faint Mocking Smile Suggesting I Know More Than I Do, An Air Of Mystery, Yes, And Fell Knowledge. None Could Guess My Confusion, My Host Of Deluded Illusions And Elusive Delusions!

Curious,” Bauchelain Said. “what Is It You Wish Us To Do For You?” “usurp The King,” Imid Factalo Said. “usurp, As In Depose.” “right.” “depose, As In Remove.” “yes.” “remove, As In Kill.

Do Mortal Fools Still Measure The Increments Leading To Their Deaths, Wagering Pleasures Against Costs, Persisting In The Delusion That Deeds Have Value, That The World And All The Gods Sit In Judgment Over Every Decision Made Or Not Made?