There is no excuse for what you have become. No reasoning, no profound hypothesis on what changes a boy like you into the man, hmm monster, you have become. Such an endearing thought that it is your own dear sister who leveled you with such a title. If only she would appreciate that her contribution was well-received. Fair enough, you love her, even without such colourful words, and credit granted, she might be right; you’ll accept it either way. Yet there’s a question on the tip of so many tongues that swiftly loses shape; are your acts or character the thing with blame so quick to take.
It’s not as though you have deviated from family legacy, only you’ve made it a success. Cunning mind an asset to the entire Kingdom with such a war, so surely you’re a hero rather than a threat to be abhorred. Perhaps Athena is the problem, so quick is she to judge, when your art is just the same as hers, your living made from death. It really shouldn’t bother you, and maybe it does not. Yet once upon a time, you were that boy beloved true, and now you’re just a warmonger, a man not quite so blue. So if there was a choice to make, of that you weren’t aware, because you see no wrong in it, the man who doesn’t care. To lend you now just one last thought, just one and only this; is your goal to be prepared, secure, or do your morals you dismiss