"So, I was just a replacement for him all along."

The moment the truth sank in, a searing heat burned the back of my throat. The merciful smiles you gave me, the fingertips that stroked my wounds, the sweet sighs spilled during our intimate nights—all of it was a devotion meant for a dead man named Louis.

It wasn't mercy that led you to rescue me from being sold as a gladiator; it was obsession. Because my stature, my voice, or perhaps my eyes that did not fear death resembled his.
I wasn't being loved; I was merely being forced to play 'him.'

"...Enough. It's over."

I shake off your hand and grasp my dust-covered sword. Love without a master is nothing more than a castle built on sand.
I will kill the version of me that exists in your eyes and return to the only place that can prove my existence—the arena, swirling with the stench of death and frenzy.
When I scatter my life there, I wonder... whose name will you cry out?