Throwing bombs into his heart is the only thing she ever loved. She etched her initials on his soul, and now he can't stop vomiting. He has her plague. She whispers nothing in his ear. He struggles to listen before realizing that it was all pretend. She reemerges from the caves with a fist full of ashes. Plato is sad that she turned around and ran. I broke all of the windows, and have been living on top of the roof for many months hoping to smother all forms of meditation until the world tacitly agrees on a punishment. The list was sent earlier, but was rejected by the elders. We will wait until all passes, and then throw the ashes back in her face.