| I placed the mirror firmly within my soul, used its reflection to perceive of others. When I saw myself, it broke. Now its shards are swords, and I am a Roman noble, impaling myself on my despair. But I do not die. I merely bleed, the plasma of my soul all but lost in the depthless cup of my stomach, a puddle of tears that I could not cry for myself. I would be empty if I could, but who could ever be truly voidful with a soul composed solely of shards? |