I have died a thousand
times for love, and I'd die a thousand more.
Fallen, do you still think that's a grand and empty claim? Then you know nothing of word, or deed. Eternity soon teaches a healthy spirit there is little else worth dying for. Wraiths
and their human familiars have still to learn this, of course, for you carry
annihilation with you wherever you go. Teaching
song to sentient corruption is a nigh impossible task. Teaching darkened echo how to kiss without violence
on its lips.
Fallen, your sickness is far too hideous for
mortal senses.
But I’m not doing
this for the wraiths, am I? I don’t give
a fuck what happens to your cults of shadow, inversion and half-light. If you would mock the open door, or remain wilfully
ignorant, then so be it. I’m doing this
for my beloved ones, my human family. What
does it mean to truly hold someone, when so many here misunderstand the nature
of sin, original or otherwise? It means everything. To hold your beloved's imagined darkness. Her
fears, anxieties and desires. His grief,
shame and loss. Father didn't build us
this way, but we humans were born into a defiled dreamtime, into a darkness that
has ravaged a perfect earth. So much so
that most of you can no longer envisage the world that used to be.
Your true home.
More than myth or gilded fable. And now you try to cope with what was lost,
coded in ways you don't understand, as you struggle to claw back a measure of
passion and sovereignty from a world that seems intent on crushing you. A wraith-ruled world. A colony of night-ghosts amidst the city. I still see them, on every corner. Perched atop traffic-lights and rooftops,
hidden in the shadows of photographs. Many
with a grin of knives, wishing to keep the earth as bitter as possible. So that nothing will grow here.
But the
light will not be completely crushed. Father forbids it. In fact, he commands this light shall rise
again. In time. It's not for me to speak on the particulars
of my father's plan. I merely serve. Him, and Her, and all my beloved ones. The weak and wounded, the voiceless and the
kind.
This is who
my father has always stood for, though the wraith-priests often rewrite him as
a monster. Father is not a Callous One. He is quiet and kind, and his heart is
broken. I serve so that I might help in
mending it, and my brothers and sisters do the same. That's who we stand for in this corrupted
chronology. In kind. In sum. Totality of all things, beyond rape and wraith
and desecration of spirit.
Know me yet?
What does it
take to save a soul? To hold an error,
and make it pure? Devotion, like the
heart of a star. A wild furnace for your
sins. As forests are hung, or rivers bled.
I am run red with lust, for life
eternal. And I shall stand against all
darkness. To seal a lover's soul, to
mend a father's heart. I know things I
really shouldn’t know. Terrible,
saddening things. Things I can only ever
allude to, lest perception itself crumbles to ash. Does my art frighten you, Fallen? I’m glad of
it. It is wise to be afraid of Kashi. I would burn so-called truth for justice. I would tear creation itself to protect the
ones I love. Know it truly, and
deeply. As I do.
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