In the days of bandaged pride and little of significance, he ruled. But he was a puppet ruler, not a real ruler in his own right; he just purported to be real. Some unseen hand pre coordinated his every move, although he thought he moved within the realm of undisturbed volition. He shook his seemingly magic wand and his authority was heeded. He said it was so and the opposition bled like rain. It rained blood on command.

The blood rain created its own mist and as that mist settled against the face of the land he insisted on more than he was worth. A rebellion arose. A rebellion led by a bloodless whore dressed in red velvet. When the puppet master withdrew his mastery his regime collapsed about him like unwanted clothes. He paraded naked. And she, whom he now called legion, sidled close to the puppet master slowly dressing in his reflected garb. In the days of still bandaged pride she wore little of significance.