Truth.

You speak of it like you have learned its lesson.

You dance around the point of this Truth like a scared boy, unwilling to impale himself upon the Stalagmite for his Lord.

You skirt around the crux of this Truth like it would be too bitter a juice to swallow, else you admit what we already know.

You have already lost.

You can make your grand threats, perform your silly hand-waving, wildly point fingers from behind the steel walls of your fortress.

We have already won.

Your golden age has come and gone, dry now as the phials you clung to so desperately.

Your crutch has made you weak.

You are weak.

0-0-0,
Kasa

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Valnuary, in the year 767 AF.