'With one foot in the grave, his hair disheveled and greying from stress, his eyes too tired to see what's left to live for, blinded by grief.'

'With scars across his too pale skin, a mockery of the tree of life which branches and roots entangle him, strangle him, enough for him to cave under the weight of pain and loss'

'There they saw him, there they talked to him, there they heard his first words after a faux millennia of silence, there they saw his tears fall like hail like a bleak mid-winter storm as he told a tale of obsessions and the damned'

'That was when they knew come flame and storm, come beast and rage, come all that haunt this child of dichotomy, they shall brave it all if it meant he would just grant them a glance at his smile'