A flaw. An illusion.

It happened once and the rest of time was a broken stream of lament and rue.

If she was an illusion--I was happiest being deceived.

Cries from deep. Mourning til' morning as we watched the sun transform the landscape and the effects sedate the pain at least for a moment, as I sutured my wounds and prepared to run through the streets screaming.

She was a lovely dream . . . a dream worth having, even if she is now my worst nightmare. I battle her nightly trying to forget. Trying to push her away so that I can become numb and stare blankly as my screaming ghost runs through me again and again. I am not the Emperor, . . . at least that is what I was taught.