At Last Light the faltering soldier of the old days, of the Halcyon Days, looked to the grimacing stars.

At the final whisper the shed skins evaporated and the bare flames leapt forth and devoured the sacred stone.

At the last chorus the musicians all clapped their hands, and the audience was made of rigid glass for three stormy moments.

At the ultimate solitude the sphere passed through the wandering transient and he saw the truth his nemesis had hid for so long.

At the ending discord an echoing world passed from the sky, and screaming “king me!”, fell into what could have been.

At Last Light the cat’s eye looked upon it all, and sighed its pyrrhic sigh. We, It, had become prologues for stories never written. Brushed aside and