Chess Pieces.

These are the last words of warning I would say to you.

From here on out, I have no idea how life would play out for us. I would not lie to you- I am not scared, but I think that you should be though. I think that you should be terrified.

My little rival-kitten.

Do you know how to play chess? Well even if you say no, we both know with the mind games you play, 'yes', is the more reasonable answer. 

You've picked mi as your opponent. I feel you should know, I never loose. And in this game of ours, there are no foul moves. Everything is fair game. 

So come at mi with all you've got. Don't be afraid. I bite, but you said you can take it. Come at mi with all you've got, because I'd be doing the same and some.

And when we are done, the last words on your lips would be my name.

And when we are done, the last words from mi would be 'I told you so'. 

She

Transfixed between earth and the after life,
The gate way: revered, feared, misunderstood.
She stands there, spread out, without notice.
She demands, she cares and all must fall in.


The whispers of her name ring across the world,
The tales of her powers are as old as God's first.
She can bring a nation to it's knees with one strike,
She can set freedom to the captives with one blow.


Tempting seductress, she entices many,
Taxing master, she terrorizes the rest.
She bleeds fear out from her pores.
She rides the world between her illusive hips.


There is not one who has or can resist her seductive melodies,
There stands one alone to have returned from her unknown.
She stands proud. Ageless, timeless, forever to be till she is undone. 
She is death, cold and divine.

....From The Eyes Of The Beheld....

When you adore something, you watch it.
You don't touch it.
You don't touch it for you fear that then it would be contaminated. No longer pure, no longer the beauty that you behold. You would be contaminating it with the essence of yourself. The essence that makes you thus unworthy, thus impure, thus a simple guardian.
You understand this, you accept this.
But then disaster strikes.
Now that which you adore so is in shambles. You watch as the pieces gather together. Holding on to each other to soothe the ache that they each share. The common ache that you all share, though yours is well masked, well hidden.
You watch the bond and once again, it's painfully clear. Your heart is hurt cause you watch that which you adore stand before you, its pieces holding on together to comfort itself. To become stronger.
Suddenly, it becomes even more painfully obvious, your position. You are merely an observer to them. A visitor, charming nonetheless, but still a visitor. One with a mere interest in what that which you adore are, but not one that can feel or understand like them. You are automatically tagged, along with the rest of the outsiders, as one with sympathy, but incapable of empathy.
Tragic loss.
Now you have two kinds of pain to deal with. The pain of watching your beloved hurt in a way you could never have wished upon your own daemons. The pain of being all but ostracized as an outsider by the same beloved: Kept so close but yet so far, stuck between being one and being none. An empath to your degree, it hurts more.
You close your eyes, and the eery all too familiar echo of silence engulfs you. Not the silence of peace, but that which echos with lonesomeness. That which is plagued by the every living fact that awake or in sleep, remains eternal.
It's sad. Playing the beholder to the beholder to the beheld. The beheld knows not what it does to the other. The beholder cannot help the one between. For as sad as it is to say, the beholder is but one.
So to soothe yourself, you dive into the fantasies. The loves, the hopes, the dreams once held, all fulfilled. For a time, the ache is pacified, the loneliness is sated. And like a drug, the effect soon wears out, leaving you aching till the next dose.

If you understand any of this, then congratulations. You have become a beholder; seeing what no other has been able to do before - see from the eyes of the one in between....

Diabolical lover

In the wake of the night,
I saw.
The shadows illuminated my room’s sky,
Forcing my unwavering attention.
The soft fiery glow warmed my cheeks,
Yet I knew for a fact one touch would scourge.
Like the ever living fires of Hades.


He came to me.
In sleep or dream I do not know,
But he came.
The skies became the baby blue of dawn,
Yet he glowed and smelt as the twilight.


Gentle kisses he placed,
And I felt them like rain droplets.
Yet I did not touch him.
Plead and cajole he tried, Immortal none the less; I refused.
Relishing the power.


His eyes now grey,
I fear a storm cometh.
He placed a hand on my chest.
I shivered.
His hands burned and cooled as they moved.
A sensation I did not know to scream from or weep with joy.


He kissed me,
I tasted his lips.
He tasted of the sea, the dead sea.
My eyes flew open, the cock crowed.
It was morning on earth.


Night and day he torments me.
Leading mi up the torturous pleasures of ecstasy,
Only to leave me hanging at death's door.


Yet day and night I long for him.
Like the sex craved drug addict he turned me into.
Sodom and Gomorrah had the right idea I wish to say,
For he alone would drive me insane.

....In the Silence....

Engulfed.
In the cone of silence,
She alone hears him.
Calling.
He is back....
Or maybe he never left.

Louder.
His colors bold as ever,
She alone can see them.
Bleeding.
He cuts her....
Or maybe the old wound reopened.

Mesmerized.
Trapped in his cold embrace,
Silent tears fall from her.
Mirrors.
He loves her....
Or maybe she hallucinates.

You.
Another walks in,
Silent tears like hers.
She hates him; She loves him.
For he is she, she is he.

Help.
She wants to scream,
No sound is heard.
In the still silence,
He alone hears her.
You alone understands her.
Neither of help to her.

She hears it,
She feels it,
She understands it.
That thing that fills the empty core,
Yet still leaves it empty.

....All She Can....

She smiles then you smile,
She stays then you stay,
She laughs then you laugh,
She says she is leaving and your shattered.
Without her, you seem to fall apart,
And all she can do is watch you.


Her words give you breath,
Her voice gives you life,
Her sight gives you strength,
Her hatred is your worst fear.
Without her, you seem weak all over,
And all she can do is watch you.


In her palms rest your heart,
In her palms rest your soul,
In her palms rest your life,
One squeeze and you are off the cliff.
Without her, you are a lifeless doll.
And all she can do is watch you.


Would you ever be really happy?
Would you ever be really whole?
Would you ever be really free?
Would she ever tell you the truth?
....All she can do is watch you....

Venus and Mars, and all Hell in between....

I. Am. Really. Tired.
This close to throwing in the towel and saying screw it. I haven't had this much drama in my life in such a long time, and worse still, I haven't had this much drama that I am 'unrelated' to half of in as long as I can remember, and besides stressing mi out, it is really really starting to get on my nerves. You know the five stages of grieve thing - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance?? Well I think I went through the first in seconds cause I was beyond shocked and all when I first heard, and then skipped to the fourth. I was stuck there for a little bit, but I think I am now back on track at the second.
Boys are devinately from mars, women from venus, and parents are from the now un-planeted planet, pluto. Mi, I am from the planet Zowrocks, so thats mainly why I cannot understand any of them.
In the first place, why people bother to have so many complicated emotions about life, whcih by the way is so fleeting, is beyond mi. Why can't they all just decide that life is short and so lets have fun, rather than having to include useless emotions such as the all time favorite 'falling in love'. Come on!!
Ok yes, I would admit that there are those who, visual only, seem to have mastered this act and are perfectly fine with that inclusing. And I am not saying it is bad, I guess not entirely. But if it causes so much sadness and pain, at least get the sense to know that maybe you havent mastered it, and now would be a good time to quit for a while. Get some fun.
As for the parents, really stressing over 'whats my child gonna become' is way too much stressing. And yes, I am probably talking cause I don't have kids, but I think if one is more free spirited, and trusting, life would fall into place. I am not saying wash your hands off the little brats, cause then they turn into monsters and all hell breaks loose, but I think trusting their choices once in a while wouldn't be so bad.
And as for the female race....If God had not had such a sense of humor, I think it would have been easier if men and women had the same brains. That way, things would not have to be so dang on complicated, and people would be able to have smoother and easier conversations. But he does have one. A sense of humor I mean. So here we are, stuck with two different languages. Tower of Babel all over a gain. Except here there are ony two groups, trying to hold a conversation in two different languages....Sigh.
Ok back to my dang research papper....don't even get mi started on where I think Professors are from, and what I feel is the just thing to do to that planet....don't

Unchanged

Tears unshed,
Tears unshedable.
Pain unmeasured,
Pain unmeasurable.
Screams unheard,
Screams unhearable.
A heart since unbeating,
Now wrenches as a gut wound.

Words unsaid,
Words unsayable.
Thoughts unshared,
Thoughts unshareable.
Things undone,
Things undoable.
A heart since unbeating,
Now wrenches as a gut wound.

Time unwound,
Time unwindable.
Things undone,
Things undoable.
Mistakes not undone,
Mistakes not undoable.
A heart since unbeating,
Now wrenches as a gut wound.

Emotions unnoticed,
Emotions unnoticable.
Feelings unshared,
Feelings unsharable.
Death unacomplished,
Death unacomplishable.
A heart since unbeating,
Now wrenches as a gut wound.

Things ungotten,
Things ungettable.
Wishes unanswered,
Wishes unanswerable.
Desires unmet
Desires unmeetable.
A heart since unbeating,
Now wrenches as a gut wound.

Faults unblamed,
Faults unblamable.
Problems unsolved,
problems unsolvable.
Help unatained,
Help unatainable.
A heart since unbeating,
Now wrenches as a gut wound.
Yet, still remains, unbeating.

....Her letter to Mi....

Dear you,

I would tell you about my frustrations. About how I feel hopeless and impossibly useless because I cannot do anything for them who matter to mi, but sit and watch as they crumble in different ways before me. 

I would tell you about how I watch them cry in near fascination and despair, because while I want to ease their pain and help them, I still envy them simply because they are free to shed their tears. 

I would tell you about how pathetic my life has become. About how I have given up on personal 
happiness, a term I know no meaning to, and now depend on them, among others, for my happiness. Thus when they are unhappy, I am at a loss for both worlds are in disorder, as the life line saving both has been temporarily (we hope) severed. 

I would tell you about how I wish I could be with them forever. For then my fears of the dark and lonely minutes that accompany it would be eased, as I would no longer be alone. 

I would tell you about how I close my eyes at night with nightmares of the future. Afraid to stay awake for fear of my thoughts, I run to sleep and am slapped back to earth by the nightmares that plaque mi. So I wrestle with the gods of thought and dreams, until dawn comes and I have to resume as usual.

I would tell you about the terrors I feel, when I look into the vast emptiness that is called my future. No plans, no strict ambitions, not direction. Never has it been so empty, and never have I had to wrestle with the enemy called 'Unknown' for this long. There is no 'store away' box big enough to hide this and so I wake to this companion, ever faithfully, everyday. I would tell you about how their smiles and happiness and 'I love you's seem to redeem a part of mi, and I feel like I am....

....I would tell you all these things and more, but there is no you, and neither is there a thing to tell....nothing to tell, no one to tell it to....a lass forgive mi, for I have wasted your time....

She.

A funny weeping heart.

Funny how people believe we to be lovers,
though I know truly what goes on beneath the covers.
Funny how my heart stands firmly in one place,
though my emotions take every turn in the maze but the right,
all ending as the first case.

Funny how you always make mi laugh,
yet the emotion never reaches my heart.
As the fear of loosing you chokes mi like a scarf,
and paralyzed, I try to capture the moment, cause I feel
deep down it would not last.

Funny how I am always with you yet I constantly feel alone,
we talk a lot, but never seem to say anything real.
And though I know I am closest to you this side of the ocean,
it makes mi sad that that knowledge, in reality is nothing but
an illusion.

If I knew the meaning of love, I might say I did you.
If I knew the meaning of happiness, I might say I felt with you.
If I even had emotions, I might try to express for you.
But a lass to mi, these are all elusive.
And so I remain amused by the funny things I see,
from a certain funny weeping heart....

Them and I

Its almost 3am here in Japan and once again, I can't sleep. No news here.
I just started the series Dexter this week and finished Season 1 today, and I think it might be best for mi to take a break from the show. But we all know that's not going to happen.
I live for this. lol.
But then it occurred to mi why I cannot always immediately identify with the victims when I read of a murder, especially serial killer case, and why I did not do so well on my Victimology class.

I sympathize with the killers.
No, before you ask, I do not agree that murder in any form is good. But I find myself drawn to their story. I want to know why they kill, what pushed them to it, what could have been stopped in the beginning to prevent them from having what we 'regular' people have dubbed a 'normal life', and have perfected the act of faking.
When Dexter killed the last victim in season 1, I felt the loss. It is so strange how I felt my emotions change even as I knew that the death was approaching. For those who watch Dexter, you would understand why this doesn't entirely fall under victimology. At least in my logic.

If only Harry had made a better decision, who knew what difference that would have made. But then without Harry's personal input, I would not have a show.
I guess its safe to fall back on the all too popular saying, 'everything happens for a reason'. But you have to wonder, what sort of divinity is this Fate people blame for all, if it allows a child to be abandoned after watching murders, knowing fully well that that would bring about a serial killer in the future? Yes there is the claim that there is a need to balance the universe, a need for a balance of life and death, and that serial killers, as well as other killers, in their own bizarre and sometimes gruesome way, help fulfill this cause. But is there really no other way for the cause to be fulfilled than this? To doom one to die and the other to take the life, thereby dooming them both?

They say when you take a life, you give up a piece of your soul. Its the law of equivalence. But when you take a life, you release a soul. How is that a balance? A soul is out, and a piece of yours leaves. Everything that has a beginning has an end. One has to wonder, what happens when the last piece of your soul leaves? Does the balance not now shift, now that your soul, which giveth and taketh from the universe, has now given all of itself, but taken nothing in exchange?

I sit here and wonder about all these things. Criminology and Victimology all have the same foundation according to people: To help the victims. But I think people forget a fundamental difference between the two. While the victims in Victimology are in fact those who are hurt or those who loose the hurt, the victims in criminology are truly those who do the hurting. They are victims either to society, to law, to their health or to something Fate has whipped out of her own hat for the sake of balance.
This is why I do not hold fate responsible for the balance in my life. For if that's the case, then when do I know she needs mi as the next exchange for balance?

The Breakdown: Confrontation

She woke up drenched with sweat, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. There was nothing in the room as usual, but still she looked around. The clock said 3.00am, but she was sure that had to be wrong. Because if it was right, then it meant she had only managed to sleep for thirty minutes. Thirty damn minutes! A month ago, if only, her most detested phrase, would never have been her sing song. A month ago, she would never have guessed that there was a possibility for a still heart to have a wound carved in that hurts even when it refuses to beat. A month ago, she would never have watched her (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/shattering-dreams.html).
She lay back on the bed, wondering what she was to do next. Sleep was definitely not forth coming as she had now come to find out, and her thoughts needed to be kept at bay, as they always led to destruction, not a good thing for her in case one was wondering. She glanced at the study table looking at the pile of books she was meant to have read. Suddenly a train passed by breaking the almost deafening silence, and though the sudden sound was startling, she found herself missing it as it faded. The silence seemed to reecho, and with it, others seemed to wake (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/things-she-fears.html).
Her most dreaded dream came back to haunt her, and this sleep she knew she would be forced to ride out. She sat in the big room amongst others, all awaiting the same thing. Except with her, she felt those who had come to wait on her were expecting more. What a scary predicament she was in. on the one hand, her self-loathe and definite disappointment she seemed well enough to handle. Years of experience had thought her so. But on the other hand, theirs she was not sure she could take on. Suddenly her name was called, and the others seemed to fade away. She was alone, about to face a crowd of expectations and long lost dreams (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/blank-pages.html).
Day is here at last, and her sentence to hell has come to a pause. She gets up, showers and dresses. She puts on the appropriate amount of makeup, not too much to draw the attention, but just enough to cover the scars. The smile is turned on and the eyes begin to twinkle. She turns off the house lights, walks out the house and says a bright hello to all that pass her by (http://mi-herownworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/who-would-believe.html).
So now that you have heard her tale, write her a bed time story to help her day. One that rhymes and brings a real smile to her lips. Not the one she currently owns, that she gets for free, but one she can have and hold. If you do decide to take on this mission, click below and send the tale with the name you wish to be addressed by:
tiazmi@gmail.com

Then refresh the tales in 30 mins (for thats how long she has to sleep), and watch the smile you have given her unfold....
She lives to love, she loves to live, she lies to love, she lies to live….

Shattering Dreams

She watches the chips fall off,
One, then two, then another still.
She watches the paint wash off,
A stroke, then two, then another still.
She watches the picture fade,
A scene, then two, then another still.
She watches her world crash,
A piece, then two, then another still.
And as she watches her shattering dreams,
The tears still won’t fall.

She watches the story change,
One line, then two, then another still.
She watches the faith despair,
One inch, then two, then another still.
She watches the scenery move by,
One, then two, then another still.
She watches the color fade,
One tint, then two, then another still.
And as she watches her shattering dreams,
The tears still won’t fall.

Is it pride that holds them in?
Is it fear that keeps them sealed?
Is it fate that she has come to accept?
Is it her nightmare that has now merged with reality?
Is it disbelieve and false hope that hold her still?
What is it that keeps her still heart still still;
Even as she watches her shattering dreams fall at her feet?

Things She Fears

Silence is a terrible bed mate,
But suspense is a vengeful lover,
And failure, the unrequited love.
In unison, my heart’s breaker.

The reaper is a dutiful collector,
But the movie player is like the Russian mob.
And the cause is the coy mistress.
The union holds the tag: DON’T FUCK WITH.

The numbers cut like knives,
But letters drain the blood. Slowly. Surely.
And the fallacy in her hopes is like a salty balm,
In their union, she toys with death.

She has opened Pandora's box,
Slowly but surely it is unveiled.
The world shall soon bear witness,
Of her self-doctored execution,
And they shall watch the first outpour in disappointed silence,
Not caring for the story that led up there in.

Blank Pages

Blank page sits before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
I sit here waiting for the words to appear.
I sit here waiting for the invisible ink to move across.
Writing my sins,
Dirtying the now beautiful white with black, brown and crimson.

Blank page stares back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
What would the ink write?
What details would it leave out?
The world awaits, and I shudder in fear.
For they must turn to hate and disgust after my sins are revealed.

Blank page sits before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Would it be enough to hold my transgressions?
Or would another blank paged stare need to be endured?
A bitter laugh bubbles up as I realize like one vain at death’s door,
I wonder more about my appearance than I do the vast sins I posses.

Blank page stares back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Funny isn’t it; that we are back at this?
Then I wished to have a longer leash,
But now I see that the shorter was better,
As being yanked back from a great distance hurts a lot more.

Blank pages sit before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Don’t judge mi is what I wish to say,
I had my reasons is the explanation I have to give.
But as I stare back at the soon to be disappointed stares,
I save my breath.

Blank pages stare back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Soon I know it would hold my sins,
My deceit, my lies and my failures.
And though I have enough reasons to make my case before the judge,
I fear sadly, this jury is worse than he.

Our fears....

I sit here and watch her,
Terrified to move,
Terrified to breathe.
What if she decides this is it and we are through?
What if she decides she is too weak to go through with it?

For the first time in years the sight of the blade got her heart racing.
For the first time in years, I was not sure what she was gonna do with it when she saw it.

Alone is scary.
Lonely is sad, sadness is sad,
But alone is scary.
The darkness closes in and all I can do is watch her.
I can't help her for I fear we would both be pulled in.
I can't help her for then there would be none to help us out,
None to tell our tale.

The insomnia gets worse,
And when she drops from exhaustion,
The nightmares are unbearable.
Is there anyway to stop this?
Is there any savior in sight?

I know what it is but its hard to accept.
I know its the cycle and thus inevitable.
But I still hope and wish.
Time seems to crawl when she is at this phase,
Like that never ending road that is meant to lead home.

Don't ask her why because she can't say.
Don't get mad when she can't say cause that hurts her.
For you know not how long it took her to convince herself to do whatever.
Though there is no verbally acceptable why she can come up with,
She did think it through.
But the situation is similar to humans needing to breathe to live.
Why must we need air to live?
Just because....is her why....

But she would come out of it, this I know.
For the light is here once more,
That soft warm light at the end of the road.
Though she takes a while to figure out how to get there,
It still shines through the darkness.
She still remains sane and holds on because of that warmth.

I sit here and act as the book keeper,
Detached yet attached to her we both stand alone.
the unknown is a fear that knows no bounds,
But even greater still is the fear of one's self.
The fear of being alone.
Someone help her....help her before she looses to her racing heart at its sight....

I sit here and wonder....

I sit and wonder sometimes what happened to the good old days when countries went to war and soldiers were led by their leaders, i.e. Kings and Queens? When people went to war for reasons other than 'I think they would attack me'?
Now the soldiers march off to war and the leaders stay home to 'monitor and give instructions'. Ah gone are the good old days where the Kings and Queens were the country not only in name but in body as well, and they fought for those countries. They shed their own blood with that of their people, and when they won, they could proudly say 'I bleed for my country'. Now they get chatted off to some secret safe island, and they proudly say 'We weep with the families of those who bleed'.
Ha!
And no, I don't mean that the military should take over, for even that makes no difference. The name for the 'King or Queen' is simply changed. He/She is still taken to safety.
Whats my point?
I believe when the actual leaders are really in the battle, then it would not be so easy to make the decision to go to war. It would not be so easy to say 'send more troops in'. It would not be so easy to say 'I'm sorry he is gone, but he made his country proud'.

I sit here and wonder, when did War become a game of chess, with the Kings or Queens playing with human targets and even having a stand in sometimes for 'checkmate'? Only thing worse than a game of chess with humans is a game of never-ending chess with humans. The goal is to out-number the opponent into surrendering. So basically the country with the most population wins in the end cause the King-Queen can and will keep sending more pawns and pieces into the game, until there are no more left.
This is a war, they say.... casualties are expected.
Ah but pls, tell mi all this when the call to 'Charge' is made by the person leading the 'Charge'....

I sit here and wonder....

This is not she

I watch and I stare and I want to puke and I want to cry and I want to laugh and I want to scream.
But all I do is laugh,
All I do is almost cry,
All I do is scream inside,
All I do is hate her.

I see them they see mi they watch in wonder they think she is crazy they think she is mi.
I want to scream,
I want to say no,
I want to yell stop,
All I do is let her be.

She looks she smiles she waves she blows a kiss she turns the clock strikes twelve she is mi.
I dread the turn,
I dread the handover,
Its too late to stop her now,
All I do is wait.

Shes crazy they can tell she is crazy they can tell she would do it all they can tell she is gone.
I can tell she is sane,
I can tell she knows,
I can tell she thinks,
I can tell...
cause...
she is mi.

Sigh

Ok I think there is something wrong with her right now! She permanently wants to cry, and when thats not happening, she feels the need to spill her guts and life history to everyone and anyone around her at that time (poor them, screw mi) and then I have to listen to the 'why the hell did I just say/do that' speech that follows...like oh barely 10 seconds later!
What. The. Fuck???

Its sad watching her sad though. I think what happened is someone tried to open that box, maybe she did, and then realized too late that it was a bad idea. Sure the box is sealed closed now, but the thought of the pain in there alone is what is eating at her. And I think and shudder at that thought. If the mere thought of what is inside the box makes her so, then what would happen when the day finally comes and the box must be opened? I have more bets on a funeral than on a redemption here...

But can you blame her? I know even I cant give you a straight answer to that. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. But one thing is for sure though, until the air is cleared again, there is no way to help her. There is nothing to say that would make the pain go away. Only way to go is forward with words. So until the air clears, standing still is the only thing I can do. So I have to sit here and watch her bleed herself internally, and pray and hope she doesn't say so much shit that I have to make her bleed on the outside as well.

Now if only I could tell what started this, it would be easier to say 'it won't happen again.' But we both know that's all bull. And we both know that's what makes me sad the most.

What if...

He keeps his heart in a cage. Locked up, safe, secure. He loves not, hates not, trusts not, believes not. He is neither happy nor is he sad, neither joyful nor sorrowful.
But she manages to get into the cage, and after much care and tenderness, frees the heart and lets it fly. Now he loves, he hates. he trusts, he believes. But most of all, he feels pain...
"A heart once held, can no longer live alone"
He falls for her, and she for him. And as all sad tales go, the end up sleeping together. Then he finds out she is his younger sister.
The one person he trusts, loves and lives for...

What happens now?

Lets talk divorce - Do they qualify? There was no 'unfaithfulness' so it would be called a sin for them to divorce right?
Lets talk incest - Can they really be accused of that? They had no idea until afterward that they were of the same blood.
Lets talk kids - Well oh damn, what is another tragic addition to the mix gonna hurt? Ho do you say 'oh mum and dad are siblings, same way you guys are'?

Now his heart, now a flight, suddenly has its wings clipped. It falls, in no gentle way, and is crushed by the overwhelming feeling of pain that it had been skillfully protected from. Worse still, the cage is no more.
"A heart once held can no longer live alone"
He cannot go back to that cage because once it opened and was emptied, it disappeared. Each cage can only be used once see. Another has to be built and that takes time...at least to get one strong enough to counter or match the previous one.
Originally, in the place of the cage, she stood.
But she cannot help. As strong as she is, she is still but only 'human'. She too would be damaged by the news. She too would hurt from it. And she too, sadly, might have her wings clipped off...

So I ask you the same question they asked Mi, what happens now?