Crown of the martyr and martyr of the Crown.
Blood drips down the exalted Crown, the blood of the bearer who could bear no more. Blood runs down the cheek, the blood of a dying martyr. They would return, perpetually striking down the next martyr and remaking the sacrifice. He looked at the only other scapegoat, his mind once again free from the Crown. He said the exact same words as he always did.
“Goodbye brother, I shall see you soon.”
And with that, he was swallowed by oblivion.
I do not own the cover picture.