forgotten & forbidden

― ᴘᴀʙʟᴏ ɴᴇʀᴜᴅᴀ, 100 ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜱᴏɴɴᴇᴛꜱ

"-- ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ꜱʜᴀᴘᴇ, ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏ ᴇᴀꜱʏ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ."

-- ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ; ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀ ᴄʀʏ. ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪʀᴇ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀʀɪꜱᴇ.

"-- I will name this one Toraveroe; a being of the sun, element of fire, commander of comets. A warrior for those of worthy hearts."

I was not born. There were ingredients measured. Alchemical tomes regarded. A graveyard of previous mistakes that was kept in grimoires and not in actual graves. Not unlike a fairytale; once upon a time -- Once upon a time, many of thousands and thousands of years before my writing in these fresh pages, we were meticulously crafted. Creatures of unimaginable power and might. We had a duty sewn into our very fiber, each one given a chore. A duty. One that we would never sway from for our creators were our gods, and us their children of imagination. We were their will, their loyal monsters. There to love and cherish their every word; we craved their compliments, their awe widened eyes and soft mouths. My kin, others of my ilk, we were beautiful and terrifying and no threat to those that gave us our titles. Our monikers of what we stood for, what we were made for. Oracles that read between the lines of the stars. Warriors of the sun, the moon, the very mountains and oceans. Healers who used the very elements to cure wounds, grant eternal life, or doom-sayers who could ignite an apocalypse. But we were never meant to last this long. Past an expiration date, with little to nothing to serve now. Our gods gone, our meaning for existence questioned every moment we stay away -- for being in slumber only brings harrowing memories. Nightmares that are still very real to us. So I bring to you this tale of our beginning. As I will tell the tale of the middle. And someday -- The end.