I've often found that mortals have no
real grasp of what's really happening around them. Even in quieter climates, but especially
during times of crisis. They cannot
recognise the stage, nor the players. They cannot speak the language of
the birds and so they confuse fiction for fact, wry truth for metaphor. They
think this false chronology is real and they don't understand the stakes
involved. But we do. Don't
we, Fallen? Players in this renaissance
game. At least, that's what I wanted you
to think. That you understood something.
Truth be told you have no idea. There are many kinds of occulted vision. Many kinds of chorus, and you are not the
experienced veterans you imagine yourselves to be. Where is your nuance, your dexterity? I'm not talking about the ability to model a
possible outcome. Or skill enough to
encode some fourth-dimensional mockery within your rhetoric. Any fool with an understanding of true physics
can do that. Kashi isn't impressed with
your dark magics and supposed hyper-sigils. This isn't about information, or mathematics. This is about knowledge. Maha-mahtica. Truths beyond truth. Dreams within dreams. From a distance birds can be confused for
angels, can't they? Dreams of feathered
flight spread aloft, or folded at our backs. I wonder how many mortals recall the truth of
literal human flight. Or immortality? For the longest time I counted myself among
the dead as well as the living. Lost
cultures and chronologies. Wandering
through the three-dimensional ruins of psyche. But death isn't what it used to be. Such is always the case when oppressors begin
to lose their power. Things start to
shift. Subtly at first. Like a half-imagined tremor. But eventually these changes gather pace. The veils begin to thin. Even fracture. Suddenly communication of all kinds is possible.
And believe me, the human spirit has a
way of beautifully gaslighting the Fallen. Driving them mad. Because we protect our young and honour our
dead. Unlike the demonic energies your
wraith-priests call forth. Do you have
any idea, Fallen, what it means to be a Father? Or a friend? To be a mentor, a student? No, you don't. Because you can't even grasp the truth of song
and centre. The veracity of presence. If a winged eclipse is all you can understand of
the infinite, then it's no wonder I outmatched you the day I crafted the
feathered tongue. Any callous fool can
commit murder. An act that is ugly,
banal and thoughtless. But Kasi has a
special way of killing. I can do it on
the inside, and you won't even blink. None
the wiser. Held suspended in a single
breath, the final breath, for a thousand years.
The very last beat of your heart. I know what that's like because I lived it. Oh, Fallen. Still so ready to debase and enslave? Still confusing truth with metaphor? No matter.
Even the dead don't live forever.
Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.
Wednesday 8 March 2023
Murder Song
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