On Decadence

John knows how the game ends

Say, what part of her isn't worth it?

Dirtying your fingers in white, like her dress and her words, or like her silky, silky fingers weaving worlds of tender pleas. And she pleads and pleads, fistfuls of sapphires in those eyes, that sharp voice like a medicine.

Like a fallen Queen, the best you can do is claim the place by her side. She wasn't spitting lies at you; none of this was a lie, a ploy, an excuse. It's good enough for you.

Like a disregarded Queen, you don't get to hold her power in your hand, but she holds your hand like it is the work of God.

You reach the dead end of insanity but there's nothing ahead. There's this girl; she's deranged,

just like you.

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Lisa knows how the game starts.

But there's a catch; you'll find it's extremely hard to play without being aware of the rules. You'll find that, if there are rules, John doesn't play by any of them. Lisa doesn't think that man even listens to himself.

One simple thing they taught her: a game is a game so long as the opponent stands a chance.

Here, that's Utopia.

Between a human and a toy, the line is all too blurred, hardly real, like the gentle humming of a mother in the next room of your memory. A predator lures its prey directly in its fauces and throat, just as John Carter can be an undeniably good captor. Not necessarily merciful. Not really. Not ever.

But he's good, he's kind. Brave. Beautiful. The man he pretends to be is.

You reach the end of the abyss but there's nothing ahead. There's this boy;he's empty

just like you