He remembered too much. He never wanted to. Yet, in the beginning, with his reigning hope, he held onto these memories tightly, yet when it fell to dread, the kingdom in his psyche lost it’s civil war. When it was younger it began with a spark, a chip off of a tree that fell long before it’s seeds. With the culmination of it the decision was made that only curses would be uttered from it’s words. A favorite child was created to fill the role, not decided. Yet as the spark became larger embers, to what was then fire, it doubted it’s destiny. The finale of it’s work was meant to be given, but it threw down that crown and set off for what it chose to be devoted to. Yet that love fell shortly after the power. And it was left defenseless. So it formed a life for itself, living among the norm around it. Changing slowly. The wounds stinging long after they healed. He hated who he was meant to be.