Vox Meditantis

Upstairs, the Empire is ending. Down here, I have a shivering dog and a letter that must burn. They write the history, but it’s us in the shadows who do the quiet work of saying goodbye.

You prize the gilded halo but ignore the beggar’s sores. Vanity! I shall shatter your silver glass to show the rot beneath. I am the fire that burns away the dross. Open your eyes, clerk, for judgment waits.

He asked for my favourite animal. A trap disguised as a game. I chose the badger: not pretty, not tame, just stubborn enough to dig. In this city, beauty gets you killed, but digging might just get you home.

I sowed poison in the ears of men to blight my brother’s name. Now the wheel turns, and I reap only dust. Hearken to the plain truth of a wasted soul before I am forever lost to memory.