I don't own you; you don't owe me; but I may as well admit, you've hurt me. Six months on, and I've just about worked up the strength to pry open the door to the tomb, and stare at the outside world. And the first sight I see is your beaming smile, one which I have to painfully mimic as you tell me the big news: you've met someone, and this time it's serious.

Was I the more loving, or just the more foolish one? I gave you everything -- the only thing -- I had: an earnest heart, which was filled only with the thought that you were its one rightful captor. I can accept that circumstance meant that could not be. But I am surprised you could go hunting again so soon.

Of course I hope you find happiness, and all my prayers are with you. But would that for once, someone pray for the phantom who now retreats back into his cell. Even if the chance at equal affection has passed, a drop of compassion goes a long way in the dungeons.