Disclaimer: GW is not my show.
Rags To Riches
The old fable lingers in my mind.
So many people dream of the glamorous life unlived.
As do I.
Glamour is not riches or power.
Glamour is the freedom to do what you wish and live your life as you see fit.
But I do suppose that the definition of glamour depends on the man.
I live in everyone else’s glamour.
The Desert Prince is what you could call me.
The single son of the Winner family.
Soul heir to the family fortune, a vast unimaginable fortune.
But it means nothing to me, it only represents a burden, a prison.
Not glamour.
My dream of the glamorous life has many forms.
The Free Living Misfit.
The No-name Performer.
Perhaps The Dragon.
Even the Lost Soldier seems a more glamorous life than my own.
While most would forfeit their souls to be me, I would gladly hand it over in an instant to be them.
Sadly I am me.
The glamorous Desert Prince.
Quatre Raberba Winner.
My name has not promised me happiness.
My name has broken my wings.
Sadly I am me.
The Dying Desert Prince.