#2056

I never hated you, despite what any rumors might have claimed. I was not jealous of your station, either, and certainly did not covet it for myself. I simply had to destroy what he built and you were in my way. A web of lies is easy for a spider to maintain, you see – until the spider dies. Then the strands begin to fray and break, and the holes gape wide. Thus when he left did his own intricate web start to fall apart and the ugly truths show through. That was when I knew what I had to do, who I had to become.

It was never about you, my dear; it was always about him.

At first I thought his little fantasy world would fall apart on its own, but no: you had to step in and take up his work. Plenty slipped through the cracks anyway, though, didn’t they? Yet still you persisted, still you lit the beacon to draw in all the wayward moths. Did you never wonder why? Why the island, why the names and games, why all the lost little children? After, I did. I walked the island, I read the stories, I examined the web and I found it wanting. If I had realized sooner, I would have crushed the spider beneath my heel. Lacking him, I decided I would destroy his web and all it had touched.

I don’t hate you. I think I pitied you, once, after my eyes had opened. Yet you inserted yourself between his island and my ship too many times, and I knew you had made your choice. Did you ever feel the sticky strands of his webs clinging to your wings? Did you ever question, ever wonder, ever doubt? If you did, it’s too late now. I will wipe that island off the map. I will tear open the sky and obliterate his legacy. Only then will I feel his crimes have been adequately avenged.

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