once there was a world. it may still exist, but i don't know anymore. in this world there was a city. it died, but before it died it was a shining behemoth in a world of ash and dust. i visited there once, before it was reduced to rubble and and debris. it was surrounded by grey wastes, ravaged by winds and haunted by the desiccated forms of those who did not dwell within its walls. but secure from the desolation outside, the city was full of life and all of the colours that go along with it, every spare centimeter sprouting a wild variety of plants and flowers and decorations. and we led to its ruin. its people were driven out by danger and division, its plants trampled by violent feet, its colours muddied by blood, then ash, then the dust that settles over all things. i would say i didn't know, i would say i had no choice, but then i would lie, and there's no reason to do that now. because this city too will fall, and my people driven out, and its colour turned to the same beige as the desert that i will die in. that we will die in. and you will not know the fate of this world when you tell our story. i hope you do not share the common fate, i hope you can enjoy your city, and live in peace. but if you are destroyed, if your city is destroyed, please, tell the destroyers the story of my city, as i have told you. and may the common fate spare them, if not you, if not me, if not all those before.
