You only see it, truly see it, when it’s dying. When you first look it's just a shape, something familiar. It’s normal at first. Then it twitches, something shifts just beneath the surface. It browns and curls at the edges. The glow begins to show beneath it’s skin. The skin ignites. The truth is born.
Its eyes open at last. They were closed before while the lie manifested. Now, in its last moments it is alive. The flesh burns and curls away from the from the skeleton which radiates all the heat needed to reveal an identity which shines out all too briefly. The truth does not take long. Lies last longer, tripping over themselves eternally to take the form of a concept they cannot picture: truth.
The fire glows brightly. The heat is felt as the image gains completion. It is whole in only one moment. The filament remains as the last of its skin is scattered by a slight breeze. In the end the only remains are like whispers. The power ripples through and the heat and light follow each pulse. It says goodbye, past its best.
The death is simple. The flick of a switch is the last round of applause. The curtains close. Fade to black.