I do not know what I am doing anymore. I look out my window and I see ruins. Ruined buildings, ruined pavements, a ruined people. Ruined souls.
And yet observe the city, Mollari. Look at it still. In all the galaxy, is there any world more beautiful than Centauri Prime?
I have not yet found it.
It makes one wonder how it could have ended up in such distress, doesn’t it?
I think you will find the name “Mollari” written large somewhere in that particular volume. In letters of bright, garish tones. Likely red.
The Earthers have been a poor influence on you. Or a good one.
The Earthers. I don’t think they have Emperors there anymore. They did once. A promising people back then, though they’re somewhat lacking now. Degenerate, perhaps? It would explain the hair. They had kings, too. And queens, sometimes. There is a feminine for emperor, did you know? Bah, their females are butch enough anyway. Would it kill them to shave their scalps from time to time?
You’re digressing again
I am, as you so elegantly put it, digressing again.
Is there a world, I wonder, where the emperor doesn’t sit at his window and watch, like a ghost removed from the body, a world where he is actually among his people. Touching, gracing,
That may be the case somewhere.
Like on Golia?
You said there wasn’t a Golian.
No, Mollari. There are indeed no Golians. No Golians here at all. But would you know if it were different there? Were you ever on Golia?
I was never on Golia.
Neither was I, Mollari. Neither was I
I don’t think I was ever truly anywhere.