What must the kind ones
think? Standing so close to these
carrion flowers? The smell sickens
me. Such a banal and callous dreaming. That I would be so thoughtless, so tactless
and indiscriminate? That I would place innocent
lives in the path of something they couldn't control? Your perfect, unholy storms. Hear me now, fallen. I am not Cassiel, and neither are you. You are nothing more than cowards. Rapists, murderers, molesters. All of you. To hide behind man’s earnest desire for love
and camaraderie is such low sorcery. Reliant
on cheap tricks and blood-born glamours to hide you from their sight. Such sickness you have summoned in your House
of Flies. And you think that makes you a
worthy adversary? What utter fucking
nonsense. You know me not, wraiths. You know who I am, but you know nothing about
me. Clearly. I'm not a monster. I didn't encode violence and injustice into
the very fabric of this dreaming. That
was not my magic.
Fuck you, fallen. Fuck your storms, your chaos and your knives. It is no part of me. Your shadow physics, your wraith-made darkness. Corrupted chronologies and defiled dreamtimes. I stand for none of it. I created none of it. That is your so-called work, desolate ones. Not mine. I have dedicated my entire life to freeing my beloved ones from bondage. The weak and wounded. The voiceless. The children trapped by monsters, imprisoned in dark places. That's who I'm fighting for. Grieving mothers and fathers. Kind ones shattered by the darkness ruling this world. But know this – you will only rule for a time. Not much longer. Love is real, and it can conquer all of this bile. Fallen, you don't get to decide the contents or contexts of my realm. The things you have done to a perfect system. The stuff of legend, and nightmare. The creation of waste was the birth of predation, and power elites. An intentionally limited resource. Harbingers of the worst lie of all – the lie of a finite human spirit. When you stole my light from all the harbours. But such radiance is being rekindled, in the hearts of all the kind ones. Light enough to shine a dreamtime, for the better. For each light a lantern. Hear me, and the coming songs of such a world.
Fuck you, fallen. Fuck your storms, your chaos and your knives. It is no part of me. Your shadow physics, your wraith-made darkness. Corrupted chronologies and defiled dreamtimes. I stand for none of it. I created none of it. That is your so-called work, desolate ones. Not mine. I have dedicated my entire life to freeing my beloved ones from bondage. The weak and wounded. The voiceless. The children trapped by monsters, imprisoned in dark places. That's who I'm fighting for. Grieving mothers and fathers. Kind ones shattered by the darkness ruling this world. But know this – you will only rule for a time. Not much longer. Love is real, and it can conquer all of this bile. Fallen, you don't get to decide the contents or contexts of my realm. The things you have done to a perfect system. The stuff of legend, and nightmare. The creation of waste was the birth of predation, and power elites. An intentionally limited resource. Harbingers of the worst lie of all – the lie of a finite human spirit. When you stole my light from all the harbours. But such radiance is being rekindled, in the hearts of all the kind ones. Light enough to shine a dreamtime, for the better. For each light a lantern. Hear me, and the coming songs of such a world.
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