Elpída: The Fire-Stealer's Lament

I was told once That hope was a thing with feathers. So's Mine. Great black plumes he has. Wings that blot out the sun. A beak curved like a sabre. Talons meant for tearing.
My liver my heart. My vulture an ancient raven.
You want my secrets? Very well. Take them. They are yours. I ask only one thing: That you wring one spark of mercy From god's black-iron heart.
You think I'd set you to squeeze water from a stone? Nay. I'd never give you so easy a task.