"Then he went to preach tolerance at Croton; but an intolerant man set fire to his house: he, who had rescued two Indians from the flames, was burned. Escape if you can!"
-- Voltaire, An Indian Adventure
Betrayal comes in the dead of the night. It comes when you least expect it: when you are in deep slumber, when you are most defenseless. With a sword that you have made with your own hands, it strikes you. Stealthily, quietly, but it strikes you still.
Betrayal paralyzes. You are numb to the pain of the wound; betrayal takes a while to sink in and penetrate your senses. Nevertheless, stunned, you bleed to your death.
Betrayal is a spineless soldier. It will leave you, unable to stare you in the face. It will not watch you die.
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