Left Behind


I watch from my twisted prison, two birds soaring over the water, free to ride the breezes.
They are the craftsman, Daedalus, and his son, Icarus. Escaping Knossos on wings of feathers, wood and wax.
They are abandoning me, and I howl with rage.
In our youth, Icarus and I were brothers. Royal blood may flow through me, but Daedalus taught me, and we struggled against my monstrous nature.
More of a father than the tyrant who sends the children of his enemies for me to devour.
A flash of flame on the horizon. Icarus is falling.
My brother! No!

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