My wine bitters in taste with each success my enemy makes. They step upon the earth with charge, leaving nothing of want behind
In this game, I am competing not against an equal but a far superior power
Each string strung on my harp never as sweet as the one they have strung. My voice in key but not comparable to theirs
Each victory over me is comparable to the leaves falling from a dead winter tree
A constant reminder of how easily a kingdom falls.
