Balthazar dreams of the perfect woman, one he can summon or dismiss at will on his computer screen. But as time passes, he becomes ensnared in his own creation, consumed by an obsession with this non-existent figure. As Balthazar spirals downward, losing everything from his identity to the use of his body, reduced to just his mind and the fingers tapping at the keyboard, she, in contrast, rises. She transforms into a modern-day Scheherazade, learning to command her prince.
Baltha B was unaware,
No more sits he upon the chair.
The relics of his body's ruin,
Are the one last bastion
Of his undoing.
Death beckons when the hands they clap,
To say, 'Enough! Your time is up'