They were friends, a collective, that stretched thin their bonds.
The beginning wasn’t wrong, but something happened later on.
Wanting magic from the fabric that allowed the team to thrive,
they each attacked the other til’ just one was left alive.
The rewards didn’t pour like the lone survivor thought,
and the core of why they fought didn’t justify the loss.
All they’d sought was a minute in which they could be themselves,
and that minute turned to years, and those years turned to hell.
When the last survivor fell, groups moved to replace her -
damning other’s art to view who the muse favors.