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* * *
You wonder how I'm able to continue the work, to manifest the dreams of
geniuses and madmen. Simply, I was never emotionally attached. Feelings are
mere shadows. A man's work is the substance of his life, the cup of victory.
But you--are my weakness.
I've secretly admired your zeal. I've savored witnessing that same passion
drive you to the edge of oblivion. You've suffered greatly, more than any
ordinary man could bear. But your work is soon finished and your dreams
mere shadows.
Your wine will be spilled.
Our table is prepared, Fox. The time for communion is near.
* * *
End
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