Pride comes before a fall.

The tears frothed to the surface with an overflowing of hatred for those heartless words. Was she proud? Was she a person of pompous dignity, of demanding ingratitude? Was that indeed the meaning of pride? Or was pride something different, something more delicate, more refined?

Pride comes before a fall.

The paper quivered under her fingertips as if in protest at that crude proverb. Perhaps it was correct. Perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was the truth, but as the paper spoke the story, there was an undercurrent of circumstance in every tale that told of complication and confusion. Her tale was no exception to the general rule.

And as that tale breathed once again in her mind, though her eyes were blank and bleary, she felt the torrent of tears brim and flow once again.

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