The responsibility of his post, all Oliver could feel at it was a terror. For it was an unnatural thing. No man, no matter how mighty, should have his every thought and every action amplified to such a degree. For he was far from a perfect creature. His mood soured if he didn't have the sleep that he required. His mood soured when he remembered times past, and the sadness that dwelled there. It often soured when the moments before him were more difficult than he would have liked, or when he was unable to overcome the obstacles that were expected of him. He had a mortal heart, that was the truth of it, and worse still, it was the heart of an especially young, and especially volatile mortal.
Yet he could not afford that leeway from himself. Not at the best of times. Every moment was like that of his battle against Tiberius, he realized.
Every moment was a tightrope. Who he was now, he was forced to dwell somewhere different, and there was no going back.
