We have gone against the counsel of the Spectre.

It warned us of the dangers of succumbing to temptation.

But we did not heed its words.

She came to us, eyes filled with tears, reciting words we thought we would never hear again.

How could we refuse her?

She, who held our future in her emerald eyes?

She, who banished the Solitude that plagued us so?

She, who stole our heart before we knew it was missing?

How could we refuse her?

Yet it was those same emerald eyes that we saw when she departed once more towards the same arms as before.

And we wanted to engrave our anger with crimson ink.

We screamed at the Spectre, demanding vindiction.

And the Spectre listened.

We spat and cursed at it, our tongue spilling rage like a torrential downpour.

And the Spectre spoke.

I am the warden of your lucidity. I am not your enemy. It is you who deviated from my guidance.

Through gritted teeth, we ask why we are tormented so?

The Spectre's response was simple:

For you continue to dance with the devil, then wonder why you burn.