You learned to speak in tongues, call something what it isn’t, argued with yourself, and every day worked to reverse your natural frown. Every second your soul rebelled, and every second you told yourself magnificent stories about what would become:
What has become is now you drink from a golden cup with a golden wrist and dine alone in the towers of a minor kingdom. You laugh, and your servants smile. You hold forth, they nod. What you don’t see are their second glances and mysterious expressions.
All of these possessions are yours. They are yours and yours alone, the pristine waters where you swim, surrounded by marble, and the cavernous halls you’ve built echo with your footsteps, which are yours and yours alone.
Was it worth it?