(Inspired by the Trumps - idea for a story. Broken lives and archetypes, each one looking to resolve their presentation - to finish what their card represents...)
I will never be more than a feast to folly. I was born, and I will die, and I will never understand.
The others know, and somewhere deep inside, I'm jealous. I've seen them, and they're broken, each and every one. I'm lucky, and I know it. And yet...they know. They're sure.
If there is one advantage to the curse, it's that you never need to doubt. You are. It is. And it knows you.
But I'm different. I'm privy to the show, and another player in the game of cards, but...I'm not bound like they are. I'm allowed to stumble, given the gift of doubt and anticipation. I've seen what they can do.
Even I can't be sure what I might be doing next.
I'm sorry, I suppose, for all the others. It's arrogant to feel that way, when I have my own weakness, but I do. Never being sure, never being ready, never being done...doesn't that just mean my story's never over? The rest are just waiting for their card to be drawn, for Fate to set them into motion.
My gift is freedom. My curse is the precipice. I'll never know when my steps are sure. They'll never know anything but the paths long since set before them.
Call me Lucky. Pick a card. And let the games begin.
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