For my Dream, I built a shining palace in the golden city of my mind, where light seems to spring from, rich and powerful. Breath-taking. The seat of the Lord – offered by me in a moment of truth, blessed and built by His presence.
But I had to concede lands to the Dream. I had to offer it a place in my world – more than it deserves. Still I said, I trust you. I know that you must have come for good, otherwise you would not have come. You are only a reflection of myself – the one I dare not see. You are the storm crow. You are curiosity turned into disaster, you are a strategy that never worked, you are the wrong bet.
That is not what I asked for. I never wanted you in your terrible shape. I asked you, and you answered, but not as I imagined. You are not as beautiful as I saw you in my mind.
And yet, you brought a blessing that had eluded me for too long. To want again, as bitter as it was, in a twisted, confusing way, to be alive. I wanted, therefore I was. Ignorant of true fulfilment, unworthy of real love, I had to satisfy myself with you.
When I finally decided to love myself, it was you that first taught me how. Beat and scarred, you were all I had. The clattering of weapons in the night drove me mad, as I could not see, dreadful noises flowing into me from all directions and no one to fight beside me but my own strength, My own flickering light of courage – I kept it alight, feeding its fire with the wood of my forest, cutting it down, cutting it all down, just to sate its hunger.
I burned, and my tar-black smoke choked out the ones who came to rescue me from myself. I know, it is not the forest fires that drove me, skin burning, into the hands of my dream. It has always been here with me, dormant. My war with the world brought the siege to our gates. And then it rose from its slumber.
Denied its power, refused its place in life, it burst out in anger, unending, burning brightly, as if fed by invisible oil, but time passed, and its vibrant screams have died out, choked by my icy stare. I see the palace rising in white marble.
Now I wait for the false king to make a mistake, to ride out to meet me.
So I can crush him.