People said you could make honor in a room did they not, with glassware and a steady hand? If you crush a promise into pieces and warm it over a blue flame, does it not shine like the truth? We were told to wait for the color to change, to trust the smoke that smelled like roses. Who checks the crucible when the person in charge smiles? Says it is gold? People said you could measure honor with brass scales, did they not if the symbols were written neatly? If you mix a doubt with quicksilver does it not disappear like a stain? We were following the steps from a book pretending the ash meant something. Who asks why the recipe needs a drop of blood every time? People promised that honor would change us, did they not, into brighter metals by morning? If the special equipment sounds nice and the circle on the ground holds, does that not mean the lie has become the truth? We were collecting air in bottles. Calling it virtue, trading it like money in the market. Who says the bottle was empty when everyone starts cheering?