13. no palace without its dungeon
feat. eli

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"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

you remain silent.

"Two dead. Two innocent-- children-- dead. Now, don't get me wrong, Operative. I know that means nothing to you--

"--but perhaps this will."

you can't be hurt, that much is true. but you can be imprisoned, you can be chained.

you're forced to kneel, to bow your head in supplication. you're forced to put the handcuffs around your own wrists.

then they leave you alone in the dark, to ruminate on your failure.

by the time you see light again, you look every bit the ghost you are.

you stagger home on trembling legs ( not fly -- your wings are useless for that, as you are now ). dig a can out of the pantry, wrestle open the lid, and pour its contents cold down your aching throat. your phone holds an old voicemail - you've been fired for no-call no-showing for an entire week. scratch one reference. they'll never believe you had an excuse.

it's time to move (not on. up). to be sharper, harder, stronger, better.

but perhaps a little less reckless.

you keep your head down. you do as you're told. you even find a great new employer, who isn't terribly concerned about some of the gaps in your history.

and before you know it, fifteen years have flown by in the blink of an eye.