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The Lamentation of Ardghal
At the start everything was Timeless and Ageless. There was only us, the Maker, the Old Realm, the Golden City; all was and this was how it stayed. There was no passage from this to something else, we existed and sang our praises to the Maker, as we were directed. We embodied virtues, singular in our nature, we knew each other as different yet all the same in our purity of representation.
But we were static, we did not change, there were no new things because we did not think to create them, we continued the same for that is how we were made. After that forever of existence, with the light of the Maker always there and our voices strong, for whatever reason, I am not wise enough to know, the Maker turned from us. The stillness, our continued, unaltered song, this was not what He had intended, it seems. But we were set, it would be cruel to change us, I suppose, so He turned, left us, and moved to create a new realm. When He had finished his work we were cast from the Golden City so tha
Crown of ThornsShe wakes up with red staining her pillow
and the taste of blood like iron in her mouth
It stains her teeth and leaks from her lips, and as she
rinses her mouth out, she can’t help thinking that
it’s better than dirt and ashes
it feels like she’s wearing a noose
of broken promises and shattered glass
that tightens around her throat with every day that passes
She nails a smile to her face
and doesn't let herself think the word dying
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