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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