Cruel master, crystal with a thousand faces, advancing on me to do me nameless ills. Yet, touched, his mirored form is not of ice but flesh that does not shatter. At his feet I cower then am lifted up with a gesture imperious beyond denial. Mastered, I yet rule him for he follows me as does a willful child, feinting this way and that yet fearful of straying far from me. A child, indeed my master who makes a child of me. And yet, I fear him, for I know know not what sinister deceit lurks behind liquid eyes that shine or how false is his regard.