The end? The beginning? The great drama, the great conflict. It is the culmination of our lives, it is the destination we have journeyed towards since birth, and we have no idea what it is.
Disaster, death, celebration. What drives us? what defines...
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Poor aberration! Poor child of bestial lust, whose mother, Pasiphaë, was cursed by perverse god, in a punishment unjust.
What chance had you, fed by the flesh of men, and trapped within the labyrinth, a beast within a pen?
You are that terror in the night, whose rage at life devours all. You are the sorrow and the strife, who comes when demons call.
Each day to you was pain, stoked by the anger of your plight. Each day was suffering to you, with no relief in sight.
Was it relief when you were stricken dead? Was there a sigh of resignation when Theseus took your head? Was there a glint of joy when the blade first pierced your breast, when finally through all that pain, you finally could rest?
Poor aberration! Poor child of cruel Greece, where gods denied you happiness, at least you now have peace.
