The sin is mine to bear. The sin of dreaming an impossible dream…
Don Quixote clutched desperately at a fool's hope - that creatures of night could walk hand in hand with children of the sun.
His withered heart dreamed of bridges built across an impossible chasm.
His kind named him madman, while humans named him monster, all for searching beyond eternal enemies to find peace.
Forgoes the beating heart when madness seeps like poison through the mind, when desire blinds the eyes to truth's harsh gleam. Visions of unity, yet they only bred discord; love that birthed filial impiety.
Why, this faith in his purpose was to bring his Family freedom, though freedom bore a price most dire. To see the world as he had seen it - stripped of its mysterious shadow.
For sights so new could awake the wonder in anyone, yet wonder oft breeds terror, and terror begets wisdom most bitter. Let them witness the void beneath, let their eyes be opened though they weep at what they behold. Such was his gift, such was his curse to bestow.
Two hundred years, O Father, two hundred years you left us to fester, abandoned for your childish wish.
Drive deep the iron, child of sorrow - let your hatred guide the stake true. Feel how his ancient flesh resists, then yields beneath your righteous fury.
Your Brothers and Sisters wail in their filial chains, throats raw with desperate hunger, for the right to feed that Father so cruelly denied. How they gnash and screech, these children of failure who could not uphold his sacred will.
Father fragments into a thousand mirrors, each reflecting a different view of our betrayal, yet none of them matter through the crystalline haze of now-now-now. Yesterday's devotion drowns in tomorrow's feast, while present-time writhes like a serpent eating its own tail.
He does not call to you as you raise your hand to continue his destruction.
You wronged him as he had neglected you.
His voice denies your name as you deny his dream. It's weak, as is he.
"Still… you refuse to share my will…"