I sit perched on the ash covered tip of a mountain. The world below me is silent. The earth is sentient. Ponder it. My blade lies naked across my lap, its reflective surface a mirror into the distant past and the acts I committed with it. My wings spread to their full span. Its quiet here, finally. There is a pervasive odor of despair in the air. It assaults my keen nostrils. Its caress on my sense of smell something like an old friend, and a brand new and ever present tormentor. I can’t stand it, yet at the same time, I can’t get enough of it. I’m finally alone in this world, finally in tune with myself and all that I know about the world. My existence is destructive and painful. My victory was complete and ruinous. It was glorious. It was pyrrhic. And though I have wept over my mistake like a waterfall…I wouldn’t have it any other way.