When the Last Hope was born, it was born a king, because a true king rules with an open hand. Even the gold that’s offered to such a king turns into dust, but even so, the sight of scattering dust surrounding a king is more glorious than the rising sun.
When the Last Hope was born, it was born as an incense burner, because smoke, like a prayer, is the only visible thing that rises without ever coming down again.
When Last Hope was born, it was marked to die, because that was the only way it could follow death’s footsteps into the grave. It was the only way to defeat life’s ultimate source of despair.
We are Pandoras, and we have stumbled our way through to the Last.