Ghosts babble, icing.


I've only met you once, I think, many years ago when I held you silent and hard in the palm of my hand and the light of you hurt my eyes.  If I clutched you tightly, you would've cut me to bleeding.

You are a rare officer, owing allegiance to no one but the internal structure of yourself.  You keep, I suspect, the other parts from breaking. Unless of course, you are breaking them yourself.  Merciless. I believe you to be merciless, cutting a heart out with a clean blade that makes a wound bleed little.  And so often your heart.

I think you are bored, I think you long for Nothing and between, I think you slay the things that can't be of it, I think you kill what is superfluous.

Yeah, I guess it could be something like that, murdering something, merciless something, thinking you a mercenary, yeah yeah.  

I'm not afraid of you, Lieutenant.  You exist for a reason and that reason isn't to keep me away.  Keep your head down, Soldado. Do your time. I'll do the same.

I'm on your side, Espadachin.