He-Who-Flies is here, before Us, and We do not know why.
He speaks, We speak His words. He is angry, We are angry. He asks Us why we move like She-Who-Was, and We ask Him why He moves like She-Who-Was.
He is Incandescent. We are Hateful to Him.
And yet He stays. He puts His head in His hands, and We do not put Our head in Ours. We open Our mouth and speak Words that are not His or Ours. Words We did not know We had heard.
Words of the Ghost on His Heart. Words of She-Who-Was.
He recoils. We recoil.
He calls Us Monster.
We agree, but do not speak His words.
We feel Sadness. We are the Cause of it.
We know now that We cannot tell The Daughter-Who-Does-Not-Know of The Father-Who-Does-Not-Speak, or She-Of-Two-Worlds of He-Who-Loves, or He-Of-Heartache that She-Who-Lingered still watches Him and is happy. They will become Sad, They will become Incandescent, and We will become Hateful to Them.
We will not be Hateful.
We will be Us. The Famed Mimic.
We will be Gogo.
We will be as They do, but not as They feel.
But a part of Us wants to take Their Hurt, Their Sadnesses, and keep them as Our own.