Every triumph, drowned by your betterment.
Will you never let me just--
savour it?
You seem bent on quelling every flame of my pride; is it not enough that I have sisters who do that for me already?
This is too much, too often, to be a coincidence. Tell me the truth now, are you out to hurt me? Are you hoping to show just how misplaced all honour is in me? Do you just want to show, that my stagnation was a sin, such a sin, and that my idleness was all the opportunity you needed, to turn into my predator? This stigma that resists, it's going to become my downfall, it's going to drown me, and you are the one who has me in your stranglehold.
I am dying, and you seem to take pleasure in it; it's so fun isn't it?
