Do you feel the eons that is to come of what will become of the mortal plays of fate? Do you feel the unsympathetic strings wrap around flesh and tug tightly? The puppet to the host’s follies, to keep another shackled and bound to the weight of sin in their very breath that sings melodies within their lungs under such circumstances; I cannot help but wonder if this has always been an attempt to try to control what must be considered the outlier to any other mind. The pure has never existed within all, a naive wish of the mind to justify what was lost to the oblivion that you must feel upon yourself now. Allies and foes are alike in their deaths at least, consider this to be so - are you glad how the hand of fate is merciful so? To cease existence or to merely die however, ones eyes may play witness to one but the other is to accept the invitation of the eternal abyss and the false light. Step, step, step.
Do you believe you’re reaching closer to the door, hidden away with all but a lock that keeps you away in this fate? You place your hand on the knob, but there was no such thing.
There was no one but you.
And so, you turn elsewhere. Maybe you try to run but all there is and will be is the eons of the caged, but there is none to define such except for your blood and eyes. Eyes that will never be lifeless for life itself has pried its gaze away from you, once watchful but not benevolent, you have lost the favor of both what had once furthered you and what could’ve been once upon a time viewed as your.
What is death but not to take pity on you? It cared not for whom was reaped, yet you’ve fallen far too deep for the scythe to cut deep within you and take you. The slightest bit might’ve been lost. All you will know of such gift, now you are but left to wither at what could’ve been. What could’ve been, the world’s once whole. The collapse at your very hands.
This is what it means to condemn one.
