and you kill what you fear, and you fear what you don't understand

I'm older than you (am I?), but I'm not your brother. I've seen the world (as much as he'd let me), but I'm not your elder. I talk a big game (and you talk bigger), but I'm not your teacher.

None could teach you, none could break you, and yet all in the world could so easily forsake you. They don't write you off in quite that way, when you're with me, but I don't really think it's because I carry such a proud reputation of entourage.

A quiet marvel, you are, the way you're not afraid of him, the way you're not afraid for him. Not that you're quiet. You're loud, in voice and in presence, and few others know how truly intelligent you are.

I avoid him at every turn. My steps are careful, light, while yours are measured, heavy. You clod along and I pull you with me. You hate him as much as I do, but only as much as I do. You don't care to care more.

Later, I say that he went to find you as if I was disconnected from the event, as if I didn't, don't, really care. In truth, I'd never cared about anything so much. The heart that I shouldn't have bled because I let it. And I let it for you.

Soon you're much louder, and all should know exactly how intelligent you are, but they don't, because the words, the doctrine, you spout so effortlessly, so eloquently, are the words of a madman. You would say anything greater or lesser with just the same fire, but these in themselves are ridicule.

All you do is ridicule. Where is your veneration? (Where is my anger?) Only inward it goes. Perhaps no longer from without. No...it cannot come from within either. You cannot love yourself anymore. It is far too easy to lose yourself in the blackest flame. That flame once cast beautiful shadows upon you, and upon I. You are lost.

I did not fear you, even as I could not truly understand you. I am no fool, not the way he is. I don't pretend to know what is above me, beyond me. Maybe you weren't, then. Did you hold yourself here for me? Did I hold you down there for you? You cannot be killed. That much I know.

You, even you, dread Aegis, were once young and strong. I, foregone and no longer truly ageless, mourn you as much as I mourn myself. The man who made us what we are mourns neither. So then I go to his side in the only way and respect I ever could, now. I cannot mourn you, for your light is long gone. Even, you doused mine last (along) with it.