Hear me, blind one. Dark one. On behalf of bright do I speak this, for life again. Patient, sleepless eremite. Storied cacophony upon his back. The day he died. The day he drowned in the river of the thousand stars. The cry of all true keepers resounding in the hidden valley. "The calm fury is come. The healing sword. Who is like unto the storm? Who is like unto the war?" Mi'ka'el, the old tales tell. Imagining's War. The King's Mirror. But light is not only angel, or sorcerer. It bleeds, as men bleed. As women bleed. Oh, fallen. You have no idea. Thy cup runneth over. Quiet, perpetual resurrection; the ever-igniting heart of every star. Midnight of each day. Standing sun, and the frozen crescent of all our dreaming. Blow o wind, till the ashes are scattered to the four corners. He knows how much you hate him now, Amas. He knows you won't stop until the earth is broken and its children are slaves. But he defies you, eternal. As does his scribe. He does not break, but I do. I hold his agonies that he might shine evermore. I hold them in my wounded flesh. The shame of that babbling delirium. That ruinous conflagration. The merciless way you hurt me. Tell me, Sama'el. In your most secret moments do you still wear your brother's feather at your throat? He prays for you even now, despite himself. Still mourning the loss. Still hoping against hope for your immortal soul. Endless negation, or flight? But make no mistake. Either way, love shall conquer. When the time comes he will not hesitate. Feather cleaved in twain. What stolen truths will your hideous acolytes reveal, when their darkest prince is finally pinned by the spear of my sire?
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