Flame of a Candle

"The life of a slave is harsh. I mean, you just wake up one day and you suddenly find yourself working in a field or a quarry, harvesting fields upon fields of wheat or toiling a thousand rock faces for iron ores. You don't remember what peaceful life you had before, you don't remember the luxuries you had, you don't remember your friends, or even your family. You're just living one night as a normal person, and the next morning you're used as a tool. An old, rusted tool, broken and battered and almost worthless. Slaveholders? Tch. They couldn't care less if you just decide to break down completely --- they'll replace you, like the rich people they are.

"As a slave, nobody will care. Nobody notices you. Nobody talks to you. They act like you're the mud on the ground: not worth their precious time at all. And when you die, they act like nothing really happened, nothing important took place, and they just go on about their day. It makes you feel like you've been invisible this whole time, doesn't it? Just...poof. Gone. Vanished. Put out.

"They treat you like you're nothing but the flame of a candle...and they all become forest fires."