Del'fi: Resist urge to think about what she did to you.

You fail terrifically. To the point you can't help but recount the legacy of loneliness that tethered you here in the first place. A very long time ago, the wisdom of the tides brought about a cultural wave of nymph apathy, fueled by the knowledge that the entire planet would be wiped clean within a few generations, leaving naught but a select DESTINED FEW. This caustic lethargy led to large scale egg abandonment; hundreds of little frys dropped into trenches left to fend for themselves in the depths. The lurid tangle of striping stars that surrounds you was sewn together by one of those sad little orphanites once upon a time. She was armed with nothing but a doctrine of unabashed purehearted nymph love and a terribly horrific weapon of mass destruction, callously cast away into the trenches like so much radioactive waste, corrupting all it touched; in this way, she and the weapon were very much alike.