*
Thank not those that bring you gold, frankincense, and myrrh; thank not those who bring you joy, serenity, and love. Thank those who bring you pain, the splitting that drives you into being, the beam that burns.
*
On a quest to rescue his beloved, the boy becomes a man; as he tastes the impossibility of any rescue, his power and sorrow grow.
I thought that was my role, the beloved, the guiding star, the mirror that reflects back, the instrument of growth, but my heart breaks too. The anti-quest of my kind is discovering the impossibility of being rescued, that my life is but my own.
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