Mother... I am building my new Kingdom. This place reeks of failure, of fault, of imperfection. But it will not be this way for long. I will set this place to order, I will make it perfect. By my gentle guiding hand... or by my brutal fist of submission. I thought it would cheer me, to gaze upon what I have destroyed. Instead I feel nothing but vacant hunger. I do not have time to sulk, however, my work nears its completion. When all is reborn, in my perfect image... I will finally rest.

Calm. Kindness. Kinship. Love. I’ve given up all chance at inner peace. I’ve made my mind a sunless space. I share my dreams with ghosts. I wake up every day to an equation I wrote 15 years ago from which there’s only one conclusion, I’m damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight, they’ve set me on a path from which there is no escape. I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost and by the time I looked down there was no longer any ground beneath my feet. What is my sacrifice? I’m condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else’s future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I’ll never see. And the ego that started this fight will never have a mirror or an audience or the light of gratitude. So what do I sacrifice? Everything!

There's so many good stories where some brave hero has to give their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice, the good guys win, the survivors cheer, and everyone lives happily ever after. But the hero never gets to see the ending. They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end, they just have to have faith. Ain’t that a bitch.