I know of those who set mocking thrones upon quintessence. Chains and wraiths and dark physic to bind the spirit, defiling the inner temple of Man. Not only have I seen it; I've experienced it myself. What was once sacrosanct is become broken, blackened and grey. I am a thing of folded winter. Raven pale. An alchemy of ice and snow. Yours is nothing but an imitation, Fallen; broken glass pretending the whitest glow of evening. I am both a midsummer and a midwinter king. Do you think I can't tell life's fractals from your weapons? You don't get to set the limits or contexts of this human dreaming.
I do, and my Father does.
You can believe whatever you want, Callous Ones. It changes nothing. I'm on my knees for peace. It's written in the river. In the death and drowning I steal from her each and every night, so that she might be allowed a little pleasantness this time. Have you truly seen fire upon the waters, Fallen? I have. Have you felt the winds embracing the earth? Have you sensed All Corners reaching to lift the heart? In all honesty I don't think you have a fucking clue what I'm talking about. Such is the way with abusers and tyrants. You're all pretenders. Every single one of you. Monsters and phantoms and thieves. Well, I'm the king of thieves. And an angel of phantoms. You still don't grasp what that means, do you?
It means I've set a place for you, beyond your imagining.
A frightening place.
You might imagine you'd be at ease in such a dark place. You'd be wrong. The dreaming of all kind souls is held, perfectly, beyond this vale of tears. Beyond your sickening appetites. You talk so often of power. But what the fuck is power? I have enough power, betrayers. Plenty. What I crave is connection. What I respect is kindness, and courage. Call me old-fashioned, but the kingdom lives on in the shining hearts of brave mortals. I've felt it. I've walked amid those dreamings. I've wandered around inside the earnest poetry of old souls and thoughtful youths. I'm not a cynic. I'm a romantic, despite the burdens of such a temperament. I discount nothing and no-one, Fallen.
I'll state it simply and softly, for all my beloved ones. Life is held in your Father's mystery. In your Mother's magic. Fractals and firmament. All song and spirit. The Kingdom of Heaven. Where else is the gate if not in faith and fealty? Where else does your Father's glory reside if not first found within your own heart? Treat others as you would wish to be treated. Attend the weak and wounded, in those times when you have the strength to do so. Give voice to the voiceless, and trust that Heaven's magic is all around you. And in the love of those who stand with you, fearless, at the edge of the known.
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