I spent two hundred years chained to the cruelest bastard imaginable, adoring him as if he were the sun itself, hating him as if he were every bit the monster he was.

[His inhale is sharp. Pointed.]

I did my begging. My weeping. Said my prayers in the dark, and for what.

[There's no such thing as heroism. No divine mercy. No white knights on horseback charging in to slay dragons.]

No one ever came.

[And then, with a milder scoff. The weariest start of a more humorous tone:]

Not until this mess of a world, anyway.