I am alone, he thought. There is no one left in all of time and space who will love me without conditions. I must go into every battle as an army of one, if I choose to still fight. Everything is prickles and barbs. Or worse, no prickles and barbs, but grey. Unceasing, ever duller grey; living as a miraculous animal and feeling nothing; living as a king here perhaps, and feeling nothing. I was ugly before, but loved. Now I’m just ugly.

— Geometry for Ocelots by Exurb1a