The Prince Is Never Going To Come.

I Think To Feel This Happy Is To Be Miserable, To Feel This Much Satisfaction Is To Burn.

Do You Know What It Means To Be Loved By Death?... Do You Know What It Means To Have Death Know Your Name?

Should We Put Out The Light? And Then Put Out The Light. But Once Put Out Thy Light, I Cannot Give It Vital Breath Again. It Needs Must Wither.

Who Knew That Better Than I, Who Had Presided Over The Death Of My Own Body, Seeing All I Called Human Wither And Die Only To Form An Unbreakable Chain Which Held Me Fast To This World Yet Made Me Forever Its Exile, A Specter With A Beating Heart?

I Do Not Read The Ancient Languages, But I Am Beginning To Study Greek.