That the flame of my dream, my light, my goodness, my care, my need to protect, my core soul, my true self, can no longer burn brightly. That the shoulders I once leaned on have turned and run. That my walls have fallen, or the guards and men upon them have abandoned their watch, or worse, switched sides. That the gardens and defenses around the flame no longer have the strength to fight; they are weakened beyond their limits. And now, it is no longer a matter of 'if', it is only a matter of 'when.'
I am terrified that with the next push from the demons, I will fall. And I fear that, in order to protect the sanctuary of that flame, I no longer have the power within myself to stand alone against the darkness. My only option to save the flame may be to destroy it with my own hands, to snuff it out before the demons can take it and twist it into a flame of darkness. That the war will finally be over, but only because the darkness will burn brightly in my place, having overtaken me. My kingdom, my world, becoming a kingdom of shadows.