Here, a tall man with a golden crown of laurels. Here, a young boy with a broken compass strung around his neck [Ik it's not I tried tho]; Here, a feathered creature with wide blue eyes; Here, a weathered warrior with alliums tucked into the pockets of his ruined coat; “God of death, they call you,” every Tommy said at once, “and they are closer to the truth than they think. After all, is death not just a final act of liberation? Tell me you look out every open window and wish only to fly away. Tell me what the Spider and his infinite authority fears above all. Tell me what you are.”