I gave her no quarter

I can still see her smiling, dancing barefoot on the grass. She was young and naïve then. She lived in the sleeplessness and the soul-crushing poison, a refugee from the past that was never there.

Some say that one's character is defined not by one's principles, but by the manner in which one compromises those principles. Others say that it's all about ideals.

She tried to settle, but she failed. Maybe she couldn't let go of her principles, maybe she couldn't let go of mine.

She grasped the wick with her fingers and pinched. That quenched flame drove ripples of confusion through the crowd, and some adapted to the darkness better than others.

Oddly enough, I can't find my candles, and I don't know whom to blame. One day that will matter more than it does now.