Lost cries echo all around and the mist seems to be made of souls. This dark haven where night is constantly falling, as if a thief stole the sun as time echoes on forever. Dark thoughts repeat, yet none can seem to rid themselves of their eternal life. This fake, yet lucid nightmare is only to be known as a false dream, for the thought of this icy terror to be true gives one a demon's soul in this once forgotten era. One small spark ignites clouded stars yet gives one a dangerous light, that lights up the sky, yet is darker than the shadow in the shadow of the moon. A silent river always runs blind, however, always knowing the way
the stars as instinct. The difference between the light and dark is nonexistent, for light is born from the darkness, and darkness is born from the light. light knew this fatal mistake would lead to the end of eternity, yet knowingly created honest reality, which we know this moment to be hell. Determined wings bring one past exceptions, yet we cannot fly. Our sight is long lost, yet seen memories will not be left behind. We are everything. We are nothing. What are we, these beasts. Faded feathers will remain forever soft, but we are not feathers, for we never were meant to know the treasures of this small sky. A Millennium worth of iron will never cease to harden, yet we never were meant to live forever. Scorching wildfires spread out everywhere and leave a burning ruin in their path, yet all we've left on history is a scarlet H. A calm riot leaves a chaotic peace overturned, vanquished from the world, yet glass dragons still dance through the sky.