You plow their fields. Fill their larders. Fight their wars. House their prisons.

Die their deaths.

For what, Sapience? You follow their rules, live the life they tell you to, suffer the suffering they tell you; condemned to a boring life. What are your rewards?

Hunger.
Cold.

You starve and choke down the rotten meat they hand you, retching all the way, forced to say 'thank you' to the one holding the keys to the granary.


They drain your very life from you to line their pockets and call it valor.
They squeeze your vitality from your bones and call it justice.
They clap you in irons and call it freedom.

When they are done with you, they toss you to their mirror, to be repurposed for their benefit, or worse, allow you to leak out through the shattered mess they made of it. An eternal prison, built just for you.

They keep you tired.
They keep you hungry.
They keep you weak.

They keep you docile.

They FEAR you. They fear your liberty. They fear your wisdom. They fear your power.
They fear your hunger.

They are so afraid of you.

There is power driving through your veins, the power to drain their lives from them as they did yours, to pull their hearts for all they're worth--to take your power back.

You just have to reach out and take it, and they will know suffering.
Let me help you bring ruin to their hubris. Let us turn their triumph to ashes.

I can unlock the chains.

Let us devour this world together.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 502 MA.