Orion moniters me and I use him as a referrant. Pinned to a blackboard, like a biologist's butterfly, or pressed urgently against a glass, making fish faces, warning us of something, still he wears his sword-belt loose, even casual, perhaps not even caring that his sword, made of fire, is broken in three, Useless. Perhaps for this he hangs. Perhaps he was once a hero, Champion of the People. Now, he just makes fish faces, as the fire that promised so much, droops and fades.
Reason for writing:
None given
Birth sign: Not entered
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