Dead winds blow all around me, billowing my cape up high past my shoulder as I hold my lance out towards him. Towards the man who I hold in such contempt. They don’t know what to do. The blood has left their faces, leaving them all cold and pale and empty like mine. Like mine. Like mine. They hadn’t expected me. They hadn’t expected my eyes to stare at them from up here, from up on high atop the apex of the world. With disgust, with contempt, with A TWINKLE I look down at the hero-party below me and they look back up to me. Good.