The poets and the sages fought with the Stoics for the ages, of all involved and everything in between. If only one of the spectators could have interpreted a single thread of what it meant. And so it went, again, a single thread mended the pages. The Stoics were mired in a conflict they knew they could never win… so they laid in wait until the hysterics of the Furies passed into the ashes of a forgotten flame. And so the plume strikes the parchment once more… my plume pours out to you, beloved Muse. Guide my way forth.