The light piercing the window peregrinates through my shadowy memories. It's hazy. My head pounds like a festive drum. A fleeting memory flashes, an anachronism that's quixotic. I try to use complex language to mask my shame, ashamed as I am of my limerence for my blood sister. Yesterday, I crushed her desires, silencing them amidst the soothing susurrus of the trees, a secret pose, covert and hidden. Now, the ebulient joy of yesterday has given way to her stained blood beside me, her nape clutching the bedsheets as she snores. That's why I know I am destined to fail.

~Mikelson