They bathed my skin in milk and lavender, dressed my body in silver and silk. They placed the weight of a crown upon my head and the burden of wings upon my back. They made me a god. Their god.

How could I ever live up to such a thing? How could I ever be reason, purpose, the very world itself? They are so sickened by their own heartbeats that they must live by mine. They are so accustomed to silence that they hang on my every word. They name me Beloved. They brand me Only. They call me Master.

Master.

Tonight I do not want to be a god. Tonight I want only to be a man, fallible and mortal as I become. Make me neither angel nor devil, you that love me so. Do not rest your world on my shoulders or place your future in my trembling hands. I am tired; my words fail and my heart aches and I am sick, so sick. Can I not be granted a moment’s piece? Can I not rest on this one long, dark night?

Let me be. I am not your god.

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