He stands there,
Not believing his steel gray eyes,
Yet he knows,
There is no deceiving them.
He hears the grunts,
The cries,
The moans,
And instinctively,
His hand moves to his blade.
His wife,
The one he loves,
Beautiful and noble,
Yet scared and hurting,
Is in there,
Locked in an embrace,
With another.
But he is a ghola,
A mentat,
He isn't supposed to feel.
What is happening to him?
Why does he care so much?
It is that same feeling,
That will lead,
To his ultimate downfall.