I still recall the lingering trace of your smile, and the sound of your throaty laugh-- the same laugh when you slid the miséricorde between my ribs, a mortal wound delivered by proxy so casually. Did you expect me to fight for you? Is that why I wasn't good enough? But who was I to dream of soaring where eagles dare on wings of gold that scrape the sky? I am who I am-- a Walking Flaw bleeding on your doorstep.