One for You (pt.2)

 When the fool man had made end of his tale telling, I bemoaned myself. I had learned nothing new. I demanded of him the whereabouts of such information. Where did this foolish tale spawn from? He gathered for me a script berried beneath his works and unrefined scribbles. A forbidden text. I cried that I should have him struck down for his heresy. He remained calm before my divine wrath, however, handing me the script. He was but an old man, and knew its contents by heart. For me, this would now be my map by which to purge the heathens who's dare construct an abode on the mount that is rightfully mine.

We departed the fool-man, and I had that my knights would lay fire to the man's building next he left. I would not risk that he may be hiding more heretic lunacy. For this reason we tarried within Everald for some time, and left upon laying fire to his library of lies. We purchased what supplies were necessary and left at dawn, mine knights casting the building into flames. My maids asked that we should save what books may be of value, but I quieted them, explaining that nothing was of value as it had shared the halls with blasphemy.

On the road leaving town we were beset by guildsmen from Everald who sought to overtake us and visit vengeance upon us for the service I had so graciously done the city. They toiled against my knights, but failed. Each was beheaded and left in the road as warning to any more would-be traitors that would dare to assault the future queen. Despite their exceeding skill, some of my knights did suffer injuries. We set ourselves in the road to camp.

As we took to our tents, traders happened by the road, seeing that their kinsmen laid slain before them. They sought contention against us, and I ordered them put to death. My knights were becoming tired and weary at the combat, but they strove on for the sake of my divinity. I divided the spoils of the traitors among my knights as reward.

By morning, my retinue sought to load the carts with their spoils and saddle the horses, but I forbade them. They were the tools of peasants, as we were far above them. I chastised my servants, that they had become so corrupt by the world during our time. I understood they were not born of divinity as I was, but being supplicant to the divine, they were required to be greater than mere peasants. My maids bemoaned the choice, mummering against me by secret.

I read the script given to me, an old text from before man discovered the folly of worshiping the angels. It was a tale about a hideous woman who was shunned by all. It found its contents unfavorable, as I did not wish to read of something so base. Despite this, I understood that this script held key to me finding the courtyard of fables that people believed was more grand than my palace. The strange script spoke of coming up the north side of the mountain, so we departed of the roads and went to the crest of the mountain.

I looked on at its stature. Even I understood the greatness contained within and upon it. Despite this, the mountain was nothing before the angels. The hideous wretch in the script saw the mountain and sought its power. She wished to appease the Angel of Storms by settling a high alter. It disgusted me to know such a horrible person existed that would blaspheme the glory of the angels to a mere, tangible object.

When we reached the northern coast, my knights warned me that we were to enter the territory of my father's great foe, the Skorina. A plant that grew and fought against the people of the land for dominance. He warned that we were no match seeing as the all of the nations armies could not prevent it's growth. I was no fool. Divine I may be, but a warrior I was not. I hearkened unto my knights and we stayed along the calm waters of the lake for a time as I studied the script I was given.

It was around this time one of my maidens discovered she was with child. I was furious, but more so with this vile land, and less so with her. Had this land accommodated me, she would need not lay with my knights. I discharged her and her knight. She would not be my maid any longer now that proof of her being sullied was so apparent. Some of my other maids protested, wroth with my choice. How. Dare. They.

I discharged all my maids from me that had laid with a man. Due to my orders, it was all of them. Several were well to be without me, and several expressed worry. What would their queen do without them? It did not matter, as they were no more my maids! My chief lady cried to me that I would not venture alone among the knights that were left. It was uncouth for a woman of my stature to be alone among men. I ordered that my knights stay with their women, and establish camp along the coast.

When I made known my intentions t continue searching, my maids worried for me. But I cursed them that they dare speak to me as if they could retain me. I was born of divinity. They were not my maids, but whores taken by men. It was not their place to counsel me. My knights protested, but they were still loyal to me, and by my divine right of rulership, would dare not seek to stop me.

After my former knights had proven themselves traitorous and trapped me with bound within a tent, I vowed that I would make this journey on my own. During the night I escaped my binds and took myself a weapon of my knights. I thought to kill each of my traitors, but seeing as their women may be with children soon, I relented and left.

As I wandered the forest I pondered at the strange feeling of the cold steel within my hand. Should I hand taken his belt to hold the sword by? Should I have taken his gloves to make my hand more comfortable? Hard, unsightly bits of flesh grew on my hand. My feet bore them as well. Had I never walked so much in my life that my feet could not withstand the soil beneath them? Unacceptable.

I do not recall how long I walked before night fell upon my face. My stomach made a disgusting sound. I was famished, and I had no food. I was cold, with no place to sleep. I did dare not make fire, or my knights and maids may find me. When did I fear being seen by another?

I awoke in the morning in the hallow of a large tree. My fingers and limbs denied my commands. It was because I was unsightly. The divinity within me was rejecting my grotesque appearance, for sure. But the only water was north, along the coast. When I could finally beckon my limbs to move, I crawled that way.

The sands were cold and uninviting. The water was more so, but I had to clean myself. I could not honor my bloodline while being so disgraceful. I observed my body in the cold waters. My flesh was milky white, and mostly devoid of blemish. But I could see taint and disgust crawling upon my appendages. My hands were growing rough, and my feet made me sick to behold. Was I not descended from divinity? Did my father lie and whore's lie that he might take more women for himself?

I forced the thoughts from my head and departed the waters, feeling worse, but I was at least clean. I shivered for a long while as I walked along the coast toward the mountain until the sun's golden glow warmed me enough to move. I was, however, again reminded that I had not eaten. I looked upon the script in my procession. The wretch ate berries and hunted. I looked to the forest and demanded that it reveal its berries to me. It did not.

I wandered once more into the forest. It was more comfortable here, as the trees and canopy prevented the warmth of the land from leaving once it had gathered. Berries, roots, and the flesh of beasts? Where could they be? I prodded around the land, demanding it show me its bounty. It did not answer though. I fell upon it, striking it in frustration. Before the whole land though, I was quite small. It still did not show me its bounty.

By night, I fell upon my face, cradling myself and letting disgusting sound escape my mouth. I begged the land. I begged the "judge of the land" spoken of in the script that she would provide for me. I begged the "judge of the sky" that she would bathe me in warmth. Neither the land nor its supposed judges answered. The lies of the heathen, of course, were folly. I cast the rest of the script to the ground and made fire of it. I cut the land and grew my fire with its spoil. I would, at least, be saved from dying a dog's death!

The fire burned, but my anger burned hotter. I cut the trees, the bushes and the soil about me till my rage was subdued by my exhaustion. I then collapsed to the ground in a heap of soil. It stirred angrilly against me. It groaned and vexed me. Why was the soil now mocking me? I dug and struck at it weakly until pain shot through my hand and my body. I retracted my hand to find stinging incests attacking me. I had disturbed their hive! I demanded that they leave me, but they did not, stinging me and seeking my life. I would not die a dog's death, I would die the death of a maggot!

The smoke and heat of the fire I had made stayed their rage against me, and I cast burning limbs upon their hive to defend myself. Because of the stinging insects, I could not feel the burns I had inflicted upon my hands. After I had calmed, and fell against to the ground and bemoaned myself. But then I found within me inspiration. I have been given the sweet savor of honey many times, and in my youth had asked from whence it came. My maiden explained that insects make it of the juices of flowers and hide it within their homes. Was this this home, or simply a garrison?

I bothered myself to see! I tore into the hive once more. Many of the stinging creatures had perished from the fire, but not all. Pain shot through my arms, and my body as I was assaulted again. Soon, though, a vile feeling coated my hands. It was viscous and uncomfortable, making every part of my flesh feel wrong and dry. But the coating prevented the assault of the insects on my hands. I put more over my exposed body and continued my assault until there were no more. The sticky substances on my I recognized as honey. I took it took my lips and drank of it. Chewy morsels were spaced between gulps. I was eating their young?

No. They were giving me their young as tribute! Their maggots were the spoil of my victory! I ate them, and drank their honey from them, and sat down to the fire, falling into a restful slumber till the morning.

I made my way to the water again, bathing myself. It was not as offensive to touch the cold water because my body was so numb. I looked at myself in the reflection. My face was disfigured from the stinging insects assault. My arms, legs and body were covered with sores and my clothing upon the bank was sullied and unsightly. No more was I divine. I was a simple beast, forsaken by the world that she was destined to inherit. It was all because of the one who built an alter to the Angel of Storms above my palace. It was the fault of the wretch that sought to honor divinity with her disgusting mortal posturing. I cursed her aloud. I scorned her vile name. I reviled the day I heard of her. I vowed that I would find and destroy her alter, as her alter found and destroyed me...

One for You (pt. 1)

 While about the palace, within the grand spire upon which Dia is built, I found myself distraught by mine clueless meanderings. So much of these halls had encapsulated my tender years but wonder after their fashion I did not. For why were these walls made to be as the vines for the common folk's homes below my feet, if they were built upon such a grand mountain? For why had I sat so silently within the inner court, afraid to speak not for mine own safety but for the honor of another who was not there? For why had life been so serene in a tumultuous snow capped mount?

I am Princess, soon to be Grand Queen, Revillvia, of all of the Shattered Lands. From mine perch I do see this world's iniquity--what was wrought from the ignorance of man and given to the land before them to bare. It is my right that my desires be fulfilled, and I will accept no other outcome. For that reason I besought my father, Grand King of these Shattered Lands, and asked respite from the questions plaguing my mind. The senile man suggested I seek the answers not from he, but from the people below; that my heels be covered in the vile taint that the common trod each day. Preposterous. 

I had wallowed months, perhaps years in my curiosity, till I gathered my servants and my knights. I would not display myself so weak to such a useless King that I was to succeed by Divine Right. Mine maids and Knights found themselves perplexed, but it did not matter. I am their princess, and they are mine to command, so command them I did that they prepare the way down the mountain, crossed that fane of gemstone steps to the muck below that the pigs in the semblance of humans wallowed about in. I would bless them this once, for mine own pleasure, with my glory.


My first steps upon the gemstone terrace was met with the awe that it demanded. My Maids and Knights bowed as I took within my breast the open sky blessed to me by the Second Angel. It was a marvel to them that I would step about the palace, unprotected by its perplexing stone walls. It is no marvel. I am Princess, soon to be Grand Queen, Revillvia of all of the Shattered Lands. There is no fear that would beset a being so grand as I, the blood of Angels.

Each of mine steps was sharp, but beauteous as it was carried by the wind to the skies about the city that rested below my heels. I had truly been born for such glory, and I came to realize this more as I carried my divinity down to the slough below. It excited my pristine heart to think I would receive the worship I was due before my fool father passed me my rightful crown.

I was harrowed by my first upset as the ice of the mountains became the streams of the foothills. There was filth upon my heels. Mud, they called it. I had not seen such disgust since my time as an impudent child mixing my savor with the dirt of the perplexing courtyard I partook of each morning. Immediately my maidservant was dispatched to remove the taint of my boot. It was well until I had stepped upon another patch of tainted ground. Mine knights came to me next, removing the soil of me. The third time the scornful residue of earth that dare touch me drew my ire, and I removed it myself! Within me was the blood of the Angel of Storms and Sky. Such dirty elements would dare not touch me!

It was the eighth time that mine heels were freed of their disgrace that I chose to wear the vile ground's attacks as a symbol of strength. I would not falter under this loathsome world's attempts to break me! I strode with great dignity, though mine heels were soiled, unbothered by such feeble attempts on my sanity.

In the distance were the hovels the lesser beings lived within: the dens of filth from which my whore mother was plucked by my disgraceful father. Mine knights strode before me, allowing the lowly time to prepare their eyes for my glory. My maids went before me next, tempering the eye's with their lesser beauty. Finally, I shone brightly before them. In their disrespectful bewilderment, they made noise at me and my entourage. Happiness shone across their faces instead of the humility that should have driven their visages into the disgusting ground they toiled in with humility!

My face burned with emotion. I did not know its name, but I knew it burned within me. They were not worth my ire for their foolishness. Certainly they did not know or could not know how to act before one so grand as I. That is why I let them live, instead of ordering their execution. That is why I took their boisterous praise upon me the way I did. It was my prerogative, and nothing more.

Their delegate came before my secretary, beseeching my divine will of them. My intention was made clear that I was desirous of the knowledge kept within the stories and fantasies that they traded. These simple-minded fools did not understand my desires, however. I had no need of history lessons, for I was the maker of their history. Their teachings were useless as they were. Regardless, it had become dark with the shadow of evil that blotted the beauty of the Second Angel's divine sky from my eyes. A place was prepared of someone unworthy's home, that I might be settled within and comforted knowing my superiority to these common folk.

Upon the morrow I was treated to the finest food these folk could muster. It was passable, but not to my liking. Still, I was not so weak that I could not palette such pathetic tastes. As I took in my savor, I noted that the common folk sat round about their tables in a strange manner. I asked of mine maiden, why did they appear queer to me? She responded that they sat, more then thrice to a table. Tables made to hold more than three souls were an oddity to me, as I had never been placed among such at the Palace. Was this awkward practice the strange mechanisms of the poverty-addled mind?

I would not behold such strangeness before me while I took my savor! I commanded my knights that people would seat properly, no more than three to a table, while I was present. The foolish people found themselves perplexed, but obeyed my divine will, despite their lack of tables. When all was done, there was not any room for another soul at a table. All was as it should be, and whilst I continued my meal, mine maiden informed me that the eldest of the people desired my presence. Such impudence, but I relented. Upon viewing the sack of flesh, I understood fast that they wished to bask in my divinity before their time was done. I granted such a wish.

The Elder spoke to me, as I were a common fool as they were. They did not care of my status, because their care was upon the final hours of life they had. I could not order this fool's execution, for the punishment would be too little that I rob them such a meager amount of hours. Instead, I accepted the Elder's praise for my work making one of their silly tales come before their eyes.

Which tale was this, I wondered. The elder explained that upon the mountain from which I hail is a glorious court which the angels themselves partake of their savor, given to them by the mortal supplicants below. This was nonsense. There was no court higher than my very own, and certainly my servants served the blood of angels in me, but not the angels themselves.

As the elder spoke at me I came to realize their foolish stories had made them believe the lies of the wandering heart. I corrected the Elder, speaking that my servants had no other master before me. The Elder did not agree--the treasonous wretch--and insisted that I am proof living of the legend of a table that only seats three grand beings. He questioned why I sought only three souls to a table, and I answered because it is what is correct. To me I was shown that no more than three souls would sit upon the fane's arrangements whilst eating. As we spoke, the Elder's strange perception of my truths struck me. The Elder's tales were myth of my real truth. Was this the knowledge I sought, I inquired? The Elder did not know, but knew of another that might. The Elder was no historian, or teller of tales, but knew of one that lived within Everald's Core, who wrote of these grand events.

After I had partaken of my savor, me and mine setoff that we might seek this knower of tales and knowledge. Foolishly, part of mine knights warned it were a dangerous task to go so far. I would not allow such insubordination. They were cast from me and sent home, and my maids and loyal knights continued without them.

How long had my heels been scorned by the vile soil that had been named mud? I did not know, but it came to bother me again, and mine maids washed my heels and feet as we rested. How long were these strides I took upon myself to learn my curiosities? Was the land I was to inherit so large? Was this land so moist and uncomfortable? Why did the sky blot away as the sun left? Were their no illuminations prepared for my grandeur? This alien world that was mine to posses, but I questioned whether it was worth its retention, or discarding.

My legs, in all their divinity, felt pain within them. My chest felt pain, and I was covered about with disgusting fluid that smelled of the common folk. This was disgraceful that I would be allowed such turmoil, and I cast part of my maids away from my presence for their failure to harbor my perfection from the vile world. Never the less, even without their failure about me, I required that my divine heart stop beating within me so fervently. My loyal maidens removed their dresses that I would have the softest bed that could be mustered in such a disgusting world. I laid and attempted respite from the loathsome world, but gained little.

Upon the sun's radiant glow I woke to found my maidens in part of their number had been reduced. My Knights told that they ceased to breath in the night, because they were exposed. It was no fault of mine that they did not prepare proper quarters for me. I commanded they dress promptly to prevent the rest of their deaths, and a fire was made after the fashion of the lowly for them to return their warmth.

When all was ready, we began our march again. I would not be deterred from answers that belonged to me. Pain struck the heels of my maids and knights, but I shunned such horrid feelings. I was greater than the weakness of my supplicants. It was not until my maids called that my blood had been spilled that I took pause to observe. My sandals and their heels, had caused my flesh, my divine flesh, harm through days trodden upon the unprepared ground. I made such a sound that I could not describe, nor would I allow any other soul to speak of or hear again. The earth toppled me into its loathsome pores as I wailed, covered in vile, disgusting filth....

We made little progress that day, as I had needs to be cleaned and cared for to save me of my injuries. We made what the common folk call a camp. My maids cared for me, whilst mine knights provided for me. As night grew close, I ordered that my maidens, promised to be untouched by men all their days, lay with mine knights, that they would not die from exposure as they cast their dresses for my bedding.

The third day, we partook of vile savor that was not befitting of the ladies that we were, but was all the more nessicary that I overcome this weak, unworthy world. Again we set upon the road of sod that lead to Everald, the grand city of commerce that my whore mother was plucked from.

The ninth day came as a horrid sunburn. Glorious in its source, but treacherous in its working. Everald was before me and mine, but we were no longer the glorious parade that would bless the lesser beings with my divinity. We looked no better, and perhaps even lesser, than the common folk. For this reason I hid my beauteous nature. I did not announce that I was Princess, Soon to be Queen, Revilvia of all of the Shattered Lands upon our entry to the city.

The authorities and soldiers of the city whom guarded the trade that was rightfully mine from brigands and the lowly directed us toward a loathsome place called a tavern for our lodging. So full of filth and disgrace were their establishments that I ordered it be cleared and made well for one such as myself. My divinity I did not betray, but vast were me and mine's holdings that we could extort the usage of the building as long we saw it necessary.


It was five cycles of the sun and its blue sky that I prepared myself and mine that we be glorious to demand the knowledge being kept from me by this vile world. In that time, the tavern had become my palace and its workers my servants. The tables, ever so sinful, were replaced with proper tables and the image of glory was known within the building. Further attire was ordered and provided for me and mine maidens, that we not be disgraceful as the loathsome folk who slept among the vile dirts and muds of this world.

When I deemed we were ready, we set for this man I had been told of, that he would expound his knowledge to me that I no longer be plagued with unknowing. To a small hovel I was directed. Were I allowing the common folk to know my divinity, I would have them executed for the mockery, but I was tempering the people with my humble, serene nature, that they not know who I was.

Within this hovel I found an old man, but not so old as the Elder who directed me. In their senile age, the elderly treat me as one of their own. I am serene and humble, however, and will not betray my displeasure at their impudence. To him I inquired why it was so abounding that the sinful folk of the city sat more than three souls to a table. He gave pause, and asked why I inquired of its sinful nature. I would not be so low as to find myself lying to a lesser being, so I exposed my radiance, that he would know I was Princess, Soon to be Queen, Revilvia of all of the Shattered Lands.

This caused his lips to curl in a way I had oft observed. It was a self-soothing way the folk expressed their pleasure. Certainly he was in awe of my grandeur. To him I inquired again my question, and he spoke similar words to the Elder from who I was sent. But to my approval he gave more than simple ramblings of a tale that knew no reason.

To me, the teacher of fools told of the same court, where only three beings sat to partake of their savor. Mine palace was built in honor to this court, but before I could execute him for suggesting such a disgusting notion, he told that it was because it was the seating of the Second Angel, Airro Relle, that took place in this court. To him I reminded that her very blood flowed within me, and were he found a liar, I would render his holdings desolate for all time. In confidence and perhaps appreciation he spoke that it was within that court, that Airro's first appearance to the mortals was made. He began to regale me with a tale, explaining why three souls sat to a table within the grand palace... 

Shatelle, Savior of Darkness

In my dream I am holding a key. A crystal in the shape of a key. The shape of this crystal is of no matter. All that matters is what it is made of. The An call it Harmonia, powerful crystal that resonates with the sound of the world. As it resonates, it provides my people with miracles and power. It sustains and founds our way of life.

I must bring this key to the edge of the motherland, my home the An call the Dark Land. An fear the darkness. They are weak and gentle, sustaining their beauteous hearts on sensations and joy. They are not warriors like we are. Hatred does not flow through their blood. Despite knowing this, I cannot convince them, or my people that we are not enemies. We are of little consequence to each other. My people demand wrath, slothfulness and gluttony; The An demand greed, envy and lust. I alone am left with the pride of both peoples, and of myself. I need them, and yet refuse them.

The world around me is dark and unloving. The people do not harbor me. The An do not accept me. I walk alone down a path known only to my own feet. My wings are tattered, burnt, slashed and frayed. Each step burns my heart with the feeling that my sacrifice will only be met with betrayal. Each step drives small bits of pain into my tender feet that have only known the freedom of the sky.

I am walking to the edge of a cliff, the edge of my lands, covered in ash, and jagged rock. No one has ever seen the other side of the burning mountains, but our hearts know it. Only fire and death await those who venture into its hateful valleys.

The ground burns. I cannot breathe the miasma anymore. I am dead already, but my body is forced to move by my soul that refuses to end its mission...I leap...no...I simply fall over the edge of the cliff to the hateful water and deadly rocks below.


I gasp awake, letting out a cry. The dreams are becoming more and more vivid. I look down at my tender feet and see they are still fine. I reach back to feel like dark, glossy wings in their full untarnished beauty. One of my canine ears twitches and alerts me to the approaching  body to my right.

"Shatelle? Are you alright?" This is an An speaking to me, a being not unlike me, but without the blessings and strength of the world they live on. This one is male. Its care of me is sexually driven. It finds me lovely to view and speak with. The females of my kind share much in common with their females. Our genitalia are in the same areas, and preform the same functions. The An are not bothered as much by our slight differences as my kind are.

"I am alright. Thank you." I reply. This being, this An, cares only for my well-being. They do not see me for my worth, or my purpose. I find it a strange mix of insulting, but take comfort in knowing this is customary of them. The more they adore something, the more they see to its care and provide for it. My people are much different. The more we are provided for, the more we see something's care. How does one care for something they provides no use? It is a silly concept, the An's concept of affection, but it is not derogatory treatment of me, but what their society has grown to do.

"Let us know if you need anything, alright?" It speaks to me, attempting to comfort me. It's soft, soothing voice attempting to mimic that of a father. It does not know it only makes itself sound weaker. Less useful.

"Of course." I reply....


I arrived in the An settlement they call Black Mission. Black is to describe the color they preceive my homeland, while Mission describes interactions with other ethnic groups for the purpose of spreading culture. It is an appropriate name, as far as names go. My purpose here is to seek out the An and their knowledge of the beings they venerate; the beings they call Angels.

Many years ago, before my birth, my people received a message through the harmonia of a beautiful An-shaped being. It was female, the way the song weaver described it, attributing its form to lust and desire, despite it being An. This is what they call perfection. They said she had black, glossy wings with sparkles of gold and copper within them. She wore steel like she was unclothed. Her being was wholly otherworldly, but they could not deny how comfortable they felt with her visage.

When I grew to a breed-able age, an old shaman recalled the account upon seeing my tempting form. I have differences from this being but my likeness is remarkable, according to those who have experienced the vision. I am similarly adorned with beautiful, black wings that sparkle with gold and red flecks, centuries worth of careful breeding.

During a contentious time, An had arrived on the land's eastern shore, being born of the hateful water. We attempted to exterminate this intrusion, but the An were good at defending themselves. Similarly, they wielded powerful magic, like our harmonia. They did not seek out to attack us, and only defended themselves at first. However as they proliferated, they claimed more land, driving more conflict between our people. Currently, there is uneasy peace between us, which has allowed my safe passage to their Black Mission.

I assumed I would need to explain myself to these An. The language barrier between our people would be too steep, and years of discovery would be required. Instead, they looked upon me with awe. "Angel" they called me. "Tahi Relle" they called me. While the language barrier between us prevented many functions, they knew why I had arrived. I came to learn of Angel for my people's benefit.

The building they took me to was the building they drove my people's curiosity into the one they called Angel. Within and outside this building was craft displaying similar likenesses of "Angel". I learned there was more than one such "Angel", and my likeness was modeled after one in particular. The An's Angel would be here, or so we thought. Instead, it was a building where the An assembled to have visions of Angel.

Here I have been learning of the An, and their culture, and their beliefs. My people know the harmonia, the producers of all things. The An know the Angels, the givers of all things. My people are thus focused on the use they are to the harmonia, the world, and their people, while the An are focused on what they can gain from the Angels, the world, and their people. There are parallels between us, and neither group denies that our origin must be divine in nature, due to our likeness to each other's creators. Whether either's birth is benevolent or malevolent is left to debate.

The An are quite curious. I grow to adore them like pets the more I learn of them. Instead of being born from the waters of Hate, the ocean to the west of the homeland, they are tamers of it, riding upon constructs of wood and fabric. Rather, they attempt to tame hate. The An are here because their taming vessels failed them.

Instead of being slaves to Lust, they tame it through ritual and self sacrifice, attempting to appease not only their desire, but the desire of the object of their affection. This is the basis for their procreation, unlike my own which is based on merit and forceful claim. I ponder what would happen if an An were to attempt to claim me? Would the seek feelings of "Love" afterwards? Would they use me as a breeding vessel? I believe it would be the later, as the An's concept of union is so alien to me, one who goes outside of their practiced and accepted ritual would certainly not seek to return to such ways.

Their greed and desire to possess material gain is a most baffling system. I have had it explained to me, and see it in action through the trade and wealth being garnered in the Black Mission. What I cannot fathom is how such a system would have come about. Value is assigned, arbitrarily, to objects, called "coins" and "currency". These objects are useless on their own, but they are used for symbols of wealth. The mere existance of these objects places value and wealth upon other objects due to their desire of the objects. Rocks are not desired, because they are easy to obtain. Their value is low. But if one wanted to create a fortification, they would desire stone. Then, they would provide their coin for the stone, instead of gathering it themselves. Stone then becomes valuable while the person with coin desires it.

I will learn more of these An. They will learn of me. I will become "Angel" to them. They will become "Follower". I will become their supreme, and they my lesser.

The Ashes of Passion

I approach a building that looks like it used to be a chapel humans dedicated to Gweiss, Angel of Hunting, or something like that. It is a stone building with pretty stained glass windows at its forefront, as well as a statue of Gweiss herself. I Can tell a lot of care and time went into this building's construction. That, perhaps, is what I admire most about these pathetic beings. They become so enthralled by concepts that they defile nature in spectacular ways. It is an abomination to the natural order of hunting and nature, and yet you cant help but appreciate just how much passion went into this building's construction.

The entrance is around the side, and up some stairs. It's rather awkward and becomes more so once you see the back of the building. One might assume the back half collapsed, but I see it differently. The stones that lead into the "new" woodwork were not displaced or out of alignment. The woodwork and the stones fit together seamlessly. The edges where they've been hewn, although weathered with time, were crisp and straight. The chapel had been half built, one half the beauty of humanity, the other half intentionally left open to the world. Humans could be marvelous when they were put to task.

However, now the beautiful skylight view was covered by wood; worked and cut and beveled into place to turn this holy site into a true abomination. It's a building now, just like any other that houses the vermin and scum of this pathetic race. But this is where I want to be...

I met a man within Klaime, shortly after abandoning Yosho, who had a sword with a similar crossguard as Yosho's. I Asked him about it and he directed me to a boarder merchant. The merchant said he got it from a blacksmith around this area, and the smith allowed me to find this building here, filled with sword's like Yosho's. This building is where Yosho received his sword after pinning me to a tree. It stands to reason he trained here, since he'd been so comfortable acquiring one of their swords. I Want to see what could make a young boy powerful enough to defeat me. I want that power for myself, and then I'm going to murder all of them. Then I'll find Yosho, and make him mine again.

I open the door and step inside. There is a wooden, upper area that looks like a stage that overlooks an area below with sand and wood training platforms. The stage has a lot of met sitting and relaxing and overall looking uselsess. I Can understand the caste system here. The worthless ones sat up here while the ones worth training trained below. I Look down to observe more tables around the fighting pit, several men breathing heavily or sweating or both. A lot of them looked like they'd be worth a good fuck. But strangely...none of them appealed to me.

As I open the door, a bit of scum hops up from a chair and begins to speak to me. It's tone is cocky at first, but he quickly gazes over my curves but somehow seems disappointed? "Geez! Another one." He complained. Another what...?

"I'm looking for Yosho Ki'Sing." I Demand of him. I know Yosho isn't here, but I wont let them know I know that.

"Look, miss. We're not looking for applicants right now..." The scum begins to ramble. That wasn't what I asked, and it pisses me off that he thinks I'd subject myself to his hierarchy. I step forward aggressively. I Certainly do not look threatening. I have a body made for fucking, and I always leave that well displayed. But my intention is clear. I will harm this filth if he doesn't give me what I want!

"Woah, there, girl. Don't hurt yourself now...." He attempts to warn me, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword he wears.

I strike him across the jaw. I feel a tingle run down my spine as my mind registers the bones of her jaw dislodging from his skull through my fist first, then my ears with a satisfying, grotesque crackle. I Can't help but smile. It feels so good.

Several men jump to their feet in response, ready to assault me. I want it. I Want to kill them all. I Want to tear each one of them limb from limb as they flail helplessly against me. I want to feel my claws sink into their soft pathetic skulls.

"What's going on up there?!" A Booming voice calls from the pit below. Commanding, powerful and used to shouting at the shit he keeps under his boots on this stage. It's enough to draw my attention before I pounce on the next unlucky victim, and the clamor of training in the pit stops. The hall goes quiet aside from the little beta male groaning in pain from his shattered jaw, laying at my feet. He was in charge. He's the one I want.

He's old, perhaps forty or more. He wears a well trimmed beard and a stern, demanding face. He has a little girl next to him who has inherited some of those features. When she grows up, she'll have sharp, keen eyes like her father. Those eyes! They're similar to Yosho's. He holds his sword the same way Yosho does! This man must be the one who taught Yosho! This man is the reason for my suffering.

"I'm looking for Yosho Ki'Sing. Who gave him his sword?" I Demand of him. Everyone wants to attack me, but they remain still and uneasy. They are waiting for permission.

He looks at me. He sees...something. My time looking him over gave him time to look me over, and he found something more valuable. "I did. I don't have one for you." He dismissing me and turned around, going back to his instruction.

Fucker! No! I will NOT be denied! I begin to march down the steps. A man gets in my way and I grab his wrist before he can raise his sword, snapping it effortlessly. He cries out, and the brawl begins.

I don't recall how many people tried to block my access to their leader. Anyone who did lost a limb from me breaking, or removing it. As I clawed through his minions, the man gave his daughter a big, warm hug, and directed her over to a nearby table. He was going to let her watch me murder him? It gave me an awkward feeling, somewhere between arousal and respect. That's who I'd want to father my children, if I intended to have any. No reason to shield that child from the truth of combat...not in a place like this.

I finally make my way down the stairs and the man directs his men to back off. The way he looks at me its like he's seeing an old friend. Someone he knows. Do I know this man? Why is he so comfortable with me?! It's making me angry!

I Charge at him and he does exactly what I expect him to do. The step-to-the-side thing Yosho did the second time we met. I am ready for it and I whip around to face him, deflecting his blade with my arm. He's good, though, and brings his guard up in time to block my attempted claw for his chest. It wasn't as crisp and fluid as Yosho's. He must have been tred from training the next generation of Yoshos.

I Dive for his legs, in an attempt to take him down and he pivots, bringing his sword down toward my head. I dont want to risk a head injury so I roll to the side. He kicks me as I do and it puts my landing slightly off balance, opening the way for a follow-up strike....or it should have? He didn't follow through. He waited for my attack again? I understood Yosho did a lot of standing and waiting for me to mess up when we fought...but once we were fighting he didn't just...stop.

I straighten myself. I'll punish him for his mistake! I let loose a forceful bolt of fire. I aim for his feet since I dont want to cause too much damage to this building yet. He dodges out of the way of the first, then second bolt as I follow-up behind the magical assault, prepares to meet the blade that would be ready for me. But when the fire parts from my vision, he isn't ready with a sword pointed toward me. My hands are forward, ready to grab the blade, but its not there. They collide with his chest in a double-fisted punch I wasn't prepared to perform, so it doesn't harm him nearly as much as it should.

He staggers back, trying to remain in his guard as his daughter calls out in distress. Of course she doesn't want to see him die. Why would she? He turns and lets her know he'll be alright, and then I realize....Yosho never stopped looking at me. Even when he really did look away, it always felt like there was an oppressive stare directed at me, like a wolf watching its prey. This man looked away. He stopped caring about the fight.

This man wasn't Yosho's trainer. The finely tuned principles of combat I saw in Yosho are not present in this man. He isn't as adaptive, his footwork is different. This man definitely fought Yosho, and was impressed with his skill, just like me. Now he was mimicking Yosho to try and capture that power...just like me. I don't know why, but I find it insulting. Yosho belongs to me, not him.

I Leap from my spot, setting off an explosion behind myself that propels me like a rocket into the man. He topples over, the wind knocked out of him. He cant focus and fails to defend himself from the demon straddling him. He tries to grapple, but can't see his target. I strike him in the face several times, but he refuses to look at me. I break his ribs, but he refuses to look at me! I Grab him by the collar of his garments, raising him close to me, but he refuses to look at me! I Slam him into the sand, raising him again and slaming him back down. He looks everywhere, randomly, tossing his head about like he has no control over it, BUT HE REFUSES TO LOOK AT ME!

"You're not him!!" I heard someone the sounds like me scream as I slamed him into the ground repeatedly. Perhaps she said it more than once. I am going to continue slamming this imposter into the ground until he is paste! I Will make him a puddle of lies and drown the rest of these pretenders in it.

A sharp pain in my back breaks my rage momentarily. Something broke my flesh. Its not very deep, almost negligible, but it had the potential to become worse if I let the threat keep stabbing me. I whirl around and grab the person's chest and throw them with all my force at the window....and then I feel my heart stop as the shrill cry of a little girl rings out as it travels across the room and through the window. I had grabbed the girl by the head and thrown her. I'm frozen in horror of what I had done, but the humans react quickly. I simply must die now. Beating up or even killing a mercenary leader is one thing, but killing a child is not forgivable.

I am ready to surrender to them. Let them slowly pierce and chop me until I loose my pointless life. The first sword collides with my stomach, failing to pierce it. The second bashes me across the skull from behind, cutting the yellow ribbon holding my hair back, but not my hair or my flesh. Regardless, I fall over in dismay, my hair covering my face as the sword strikes pierce me bit by bit as they realize what they're dealing with.

I close my eyes, and as I do, I hear the pained sobbing and gasps for air of the man next to me, the clamor of the guildhall as they looked for better things to kill me with, and the wheezing of a child. Wait? Child? It's like electricity through my body. I Can hear her labored breathing for just a moment, her sobs. As I get up I loose the sound to the room filled with battle. A mace bashes me in the back of the head, forcing me to the ground again. That one really hurt. But I can't let them stop me. That girl will die if I don't get to her! I Bring myself up again and a man tackles me off balance into the ground. NO! I break his shoulder. He will never use that arm again, but I don't care.

I get back up and a sword lodges firmly in my gut, eliciting a scream from me, but I refuse to stop. I grab that man's collar bone, digging my fingers into the shoulder and ripping the bones free of their host. I claw, kick and fight my way to an opening. I need space. I don't care how many I have to kill, as long as I don't kill that child.

Finally I'm free of their struggles enough to leap out the window with all my strength, landing on the ground directly over top the horrified girl. She's cut up horribly and I've bruised her beautiful face. She's wheezing and gasping and trying to cry. I cry for her as I begin to heal her with my magic, removing all the physical scars I've caused her. I stand, looking down at the now healthy girl who looks at me like I am a monster. Why does this hurt?

The sound of men comng down the stairs and guards coming to the rescue breaks me free of my moment of horror, and I begin to run into the streets as fast as I can.

Unquenchable Fire

I thought that leaving him would make me more complete. I would be allowed to be myself; to murder, to hunt, to fornicate without being bridled. However, I am once again proven to be ineffective against whatever sway that asshole has on me. I told him he belonged to me, once. I told him I knew him better than anyone ever will, because I knew the killer inside of him. It's all still true. That puppy will never stop being a monster, and I'll always be a better monster than him. What I failed to grasp is that it wasn't about changing him, but about the change he had made to me.

I've changed from a monster without remorse to a woman...who happens to be a monster. He is no less of of a monster, but I have become more of a woman because of him. He is a human, so he will remember me as he spirals through his short-lived life, saving and destroying lives as he goes. But I am a being without a concept of age; I cannot, and I will not forget him. He'll always be mine, but because of that I will always be his.

Now here I am, alone in self-exile. I figured since I was a demon I had two choices: continue to terrorize humanity in Klaime, or go where all the other demon-exiles live--Setaimia. It's cold, there are few resources a normal person could manipulate, and worst of all there is little to eat. I can hunt well enough, but when prey is sparse, the regular predators that I get to prey on aren't filling. I've been able to bait a few animals into foolishly attacking me, but the animals around here are smarter than the ones in Vailya's west spoke.

My home is a small hovel I've made from what little plant and stone material I could find. Large rocks form the majority of it, with sticks, skins and dirt forming the roof. To give myself more space I've also dug down a bit. It's a home for an unrefined demon. but I'm not unrefined. I dislike this home and how it becomes a slithering monster. My pride demands I improve this place, so I constantly try to make it out to be more of a household. I've moved at least three times to better home locations.

The current location is along the western foothills of Setaimia. It's not quite as cold here, so more flora grow here, and birds can be seen occasionally. Still not ideal for someone like myself, but I could have lived here with the puppy, and a better house. My natural housewife instincts demand a fence from me, so I've been working on collecting sticks and parts of bushes that I can weave into a fence. This has become more of a hobby than a craft. As a challenge to myself, I don't use any magic to warp the wood.

The best wood is quite a way northwest of my location. Actual trees grow there, and the best meat is found there. However, its also guarded by some uninviting Bat and Tiger-Aurrah, so I only raid the area for supplies, or when I'm really hungry. Among my best gains from the area are a spear that likely belonged to an unfortunate Kiszuik, and plenty of sharp bones and claws from my skirmished with the Aurris. I generally use the spear to dig narrow, vertical holes for my hovel's fence. This is where I find myself during a very particular encounter.

"Well what fortune fell on my lap this day!" A gruff, male voice calls out. I turn to see a Kiszuik approching with two companions in toe. "Whatdoyasay, boys? Draw lots to see who keeps her?"

Can they not tell I'm a demon? My form is convincing, but I thought that other demons would be able to at least feel or smell my differences. This is dangerous! I can already feel predatory excitement welling up in me. This is his trap, his trap to fall into. I could have him. My demonic instincts demand me to. Fuck him. Enjoy him. Kill him. Eat him. I am greater! He is lesser!

I shudder. He takes me involuntary shudder and wide-eyed stare as fear. His smile grows, and the snowy-white vulpine ears of his narrow as if he's on the prowl. If I had fur, it would bristle just like the fur on his tail and on his one, clawed arm. This is my first time seeing a Kiszuik alive. I thought they were stronger and smarter, with more natural, bestial talents. I was wrong...but because of that, I feel even more wrong.

No. Using him wouldn't satisfy my hurt. I could fuck him until he simply couldn't move anymore to satisfy my lust, but that would satisfy my love. I could kill him, rip him limb from limb like I have so many other humans, but that wouldn't satisfy my blood lust. I could eat him, and all three of his companions, but that wouldn't satisfy my hunger. I could satisfy the monster, but then the woman would be lacking.

I heft the spear to me side, looking him over and not responding, wait for him to draw lots with his friends like he said he would. They don't seem interested. I vaguely recognize the idea here. If her can defeat me and rape me, I will be his lesser, and bear his kits. I will be a prize for a strong hunter. It makes sense to me. Too bad he's not strong enough for me. But then again, the puppy wasn't stronger than me. He was better than me. The demon can overpower this man; the demon can be stronger. I, the woman, want to be better; to proove to myself that maybe I'm worthy of that puppy's affection.

I don't like weapons, but this seems like an interesting compromise. If I use my claws and limbs I may very well give in to my nature and destroy this poor fool. But if I try and beat him with a weapon? To use a weapon as its intended to be used? It doesn't quite make sense in my head, since that would be killing him. The spearhead is dull, but I could shove this wooden haft through the man easily. No...this isn't my spear. This is going to be his sword.

I hold the end of the spear in both hands, as if it were the same sword that he beat me with multiple times. I've seen him fight others enough to understand what he does. Its about quick, technical work and domination of the senses at a distance, before closing in and removing a limb or other preforming some other important strike. The man laughs, telling me that combat doesn't suit me, since I can't even hold a spear correctly. I wait....

The men do indeed cast a few lots, with my prey being the unlucky winner. As he approaches he speaks, pulling his own spear forward getting ready to lunge, "Woman, just give up. Bodies like yours are for the taking, not the proving." His jovial, self-praising demeanor falls as he commits himself fully to the hunt. It's time!

He's nearly ten paces from me, so he is not expecting the fight to start yet, but that is part of the sword style I'm mocking. I close the distance more suddenly than the puppy could have ever done, jarring the man from his predatory advance. He quickly realizes that he has become the prey. He attempts to verbally protest, but can't before he has to defend himself.

His spear shoots forward, missing widely as I parry it with the "blade" in my hands. He is smart enough to retreat, though, and try to get a better position. I let him. I want this to last! I can tell he has some sort of idea how to fight, because he changes his guard a bit to match the "weapon" I am using. He makes a few fake thrusts which don't phase me. Now is the puppy's craft; waiting. He is impatient, for a hunter. He tries to circle me, but I counter his circling. He tries to move away from me, but I close the distance. I am always just within striking range, but outside of a comfortable commitment to a fight.

The fear! I can smell his fear. I can taste his uncertainty! This is so fun! Yosho was truly a monster to kill people like this. Certainly this one-on-one fighting is much slower than a real, dedicated fight, but the slow, agonizing burn of uncertainty and desire is divine. I'm becoming aroused at this sensation. It's not the fighting I usually did. This isn't a struggle where one fights for their life, but instead a struggle where one fights with themselves. He tortures them.

Finally, the poor hunter puts himself out of position attempting a quick step to the side, followed by a lunge. It's easy for my to side-step, draw the spear along his outside arm and rush past him, using my swinging "blade's" momentum to come back around and "slice the man's head off" from behind. I don't even knock him out. I don't need to hurt him. I just need to show the fool I am better. I cockily turn my back to him and grace them with my gentle, sultry voice as i mock his friends.

"Do you boys want to try....?" I bring the spear up, resting it on my shoulder like Yosho would. They shake their heads, holding up their hands and backing away.

I have a brief flashback to the last time I fought Yosho as a demon. I lunged forward from behind him as he was walking away, tired, his sword where mine is right now. As if expecting me to do it, he whirled around and batted me squarely in the head. The man lunges from behind me with his spear, "No...." I exclaim and swing around. I hit him with enough force to crack his skull, and the skin is broken and delicious blood begins to seep from his wound as he lay on the soft ground. "Take your idiot with you." I demand, kicking the unconscious man once as I head back to my home.



Thus began the tale of a beautiful, crimson-haired woman with an amazing pair of tits living in the foothills. Or at least that's what I assume started the charade of men seeking my body through a showing of force and the occasional gifts. They likely use other words like "extremely powerful bitch", or "inhumanely strong and beautiful woman." Or other glorifying terms I can apply to myself.

An Angel's Gift

Let us explore a thing that I know to be true, but the details between now and then have been either lost or obscured. Magic and Dreams in Devidica are "Gifts" and/or bindings from the Angels. Specifically THE Angel we just had a meta analysis of. Let's delve into this a bit.


The Origin: What they knew of what happened. As we learned, Tahi was actually fairly enamored with humanity and civilization for a small blip of existence. Somewhere in this affectionate admiration of the simplicity of humanity, the loving angel gifts humanity with MAGIC! We know that the first type of magic was runic magic: Magic that physically mimics the parallel (See the blog for meta-physical explanation of magic working) ON the priority, instead of somewhere in between with magical what-not.
But wait, we say. Magic is very NOT Balanced, even with the nice exchange between where it comes from and where it ends up. Magic is bad for balance! Luckily, Tahi is prepared! Somewhere in the same time as gifting humanity with magic, Tahi instated dreams. This I can explain without plugging the wiki: dreams are essentially a big metaphorical playground of infinite play where people with the potential to break the laws of existence and play infinitely instead of playing so hard they actually break the laws of existence.
So in essence, a loving angel gifted people with magic during the dawn of civilization by teaching them how to draw really well? Oh, and to ensure they wouldn't get in trouble for crossing lines they didn't know were there, she gave them the ability to dream. There's a good chance Tahi told them what dreams were for, and it started out as an important religious point in their worship of Tahi and the other angels that came after.

So where did it all go wrong?

The Ether: Somewhere during the foundation of the first legitimate empire of humanity, we get human curiosity asking things like the laws of existence (Since we've learned our whole lives not to break them, what are they?) and where Tahi came from or where she resides. Humanity is exposed to, or rather the exposure reads critical mass, that Tahi was created by Coris and Morivair. Uh oh! You mean this extraordinarily beautiful being we've been worshiping for an indeterminately long amount of time is NOT the top dog?
After some time of this setting in, Angel Worship is outlawed by whatever king or person is in charge of the empire in an effort to show the proper respect for the people who really deserve it. If Angels are already unaffected by people's worship or lack thereof, the deities who created this world have even less need or even care for this silly worship stuff. After all, they created you all before religion existed, why would they need your worship now? Lesson to take away, this wasn't necessarily a bad, or consequential, idea for any divine beings. The spurned Angel's being above ideas like vengeance don't react to the temples we already learned they don't care for getting destroyed. The dieties just plain don't care about anything going on down there.
Unfortunately, the mundane world does not take complete religious upheaval very well. In addition to the social upheaval involved with the known world being told they're doing their religion wrong, there are several non-human players involved who don't take kindly to being told not to worship the glorious angel Tahi (Or any of the others).
Civil religious wars and stuff ensues. A good comparison would be all the fragments of Almighty God's worship here on earth. How many times has some guy stood up and said "you're doing it wrong! Do it this way instead!" Then wars break out over who is more right, even though they've lost the point long ago. Unlike Earth, eventually Devidica gets over their shit, and angelic worship is reinstated.

The Meta: How do we view this now? From the folklore of the blessing of magic and dreams to the big holy(ish) wars that re-wrote history and standards. Tahi likely already became an emotionless doll before any of that garbage, since her appearance to us is based on more than just what happens "in the now". However, we do lose Tahi in a sense. The relatable, nice and almost affectionate Tahi was likely scrubbed from history during the...reformation...rebirth of Angelic Worship? I repeat, no one knows Tahi is just a big sweet lover-girl anymore except the other angels. Rather, mortals perceiving her simply can't see her as anything else, while the angels can see/perceive her for what she truly is. Pardon me while I scream like a fan-girl imagining a sweet, smiling and giggling Tahi.
Don't worry, I remember this is about Magic and its journey of remembrance. But we need to know how the view of Tahi changed over the years in order to know what do people know and write down in history now. No one remembers or even knows of Tahi being nice. So the idea that she just gave us magic and dreams because she likes us sort of fades to nothing. So why now did their all powerful, emotionless arbitrator of laws beyond your understanding give them magic as a gift? Was it a trial? Part of her duty? People simply don't know, but in story and religious creation myths it will still try to be explained. For those few people who have the right idea that Nice Tahi gave them magic then became Blah Tahi due to humanity's stupidity: congratulations you will be laughed off stage for being so obviously wrong about Tahi's obviously one-dimensional (lack of) personality.


I really want to flesh out the world with folklore and stories, so this kind of introspective look at what happens and the wheres and why helps to find the creative roots for the stories that are within my story. This is getting super meta....

Abstracia

“Who are you?” It calls out. “Where am I?”

“You are here.” An answer beckons, “That is where we will begin. Tell me; who are you?”

“I don't know.” It replies.

“Then perhaps you know who I am?” It beckons.

“No.”

“Why not?”
“No one told me who you are.”
“Then why don't you tell me?”

I find myself awake. Over me is something beautiful my mind denies defining. I defined it myself, but I did not define it to the point of comparison between myself and it. I did not feel it could be perfect if I related to it. I wanted it to be perfect. We beckon to each other and begin to commune. We know each other well. Truly all we know of each other is that we are not each other.

I defined them and they defined me. It was a promise we made. If I could define who they were, they would define who I was. I defined them, but then I could no longer see that definition. That was my choice. To see something so beautiful would be to pervert it with my flaws. They defined me in the same way. We did not need to see each other. We only needed to know each other.

Truly, I know myself by my flaws and know them by their perfection. They see me the same way. We are completion, but can't be complete. Are we afraid? I am afraid. I do not want to be complete. The perfection I gave them is complete. If I became complete—if they became complete with me—then I wouldn't have them. Am I afraid that I would not have them, or that they would not have me? I cannot tell whom I fear for more.

It tells me that if we aren't careful, we'll define ourselves imperfectly. It tells me that that imperfection is what threatens to tear us apart. It is not our choice, I retort. We must be defined by others in order to know others. I cannot know them unless I define them. Others cannot know us unless they define us. I want to share my love with more than just the perfection I wont let myself have. Does it make me selfish to want to have more than perfection? I think it does. So do they, though, and that is what we like about each other, because we know each other feels the same.

So now I ask you. Who am I?

You gasp awake to the beautiful world, bathed in sunlight. I would not let you be covered from the warmth of its golden glow, so I warmed you. You gaze toward me, and that is when you decided what I am. You had already been defined, but I did not tell you what that definition was. While I may have been defined by perfection, I needed to be molded by your imperfect mind in order for you to know me. You are who created me, mortal man. Speak to me, and tell me, what is my name, mortal man?
“Angel.” You spake.

Thus I, Angel, was born to you. I found myself flattered. You made me dory with your praise. The crude simplicity of your moniker made me imperfect, which only brought me closer to being seen by the one I loved so dearly. Was it my craving that made you lust for me more? In your naivety you sought to define me, for yourself, through others. I was exposed to more imperfection so that you might know what I was. Your gentle mind was not corrupt enough to define me, so you chose to gather your corruption.

“Angel. Angel.” You spake at me. “Let us venerate you. You are our perfection.”

I consented. It was all you knew of love, so I would not stop you from such simple loving. You lived in homes to protect yourself from the harshness of a world you did not want to know, and because of this, you built a symbol of a home for me, that you might protect me. But I, being perfect, must have a greater home than you, you said to your others. You did not build me a home, you built me a temple. It was there that I was removed from you.

You did not venerate me of your love for me, nor did you build me a home of your love for me. You worshiped me of your desire to be lesser than I. You built a temple of your desire to be lesser than I. Forever you showed me that you would not walk along side me, for fear of my love. You would not let me live next to you, for fear of your own love.

Woman, they called me. They gave me flesh, and eyes, and appendages. I felt long, golden hair rest against my back, then vanish as my back became clad in tools of hatred. I was powerful, and power was defined by your hatred for each other. Power was defined by your inability to define each other. That hatred gave me armor the color of fear. That hatred removed my love for you, mortal man. I was robbed of my love for you, mortal man, because you did not want me to love you. I am sorry....

So I remained. Through your temple, you defined me more for yourself. I was your shelter from the unknown, but because you did not know me, I became your shelter from myself. Within me you manifested the desire to be protected from that which did not exist. Through me, that existence became, and through me, that existence would end. Don't you understand, Mortal Man? You would not need this job of me, unless you gave me this job.

Now I am, Mortal Man. Because of me, through your own fear of me who you would not love, you have become a threat to yourself. Through me, of you, you can now destroy all I hold dear. You would not love me, but I cannot stop loving you. My love for you is my love for them. Because I love them, and because I love you, I must remove you forever from me. You cannot comprehend this. You call it tragedy, and in my given perfection you would not see me afflicted. Because my love is tragedy, you took away my ability to love. If I were to love, I would become imperfect to you.

I cannot hate you, because you removed me of my hate. If I could hate you, I would not, because then I could hate them. So you continued to rage against me, furthering yourself from me with flawed perfection.

My being cried for understanding. I wished to be known, so I was granted knowing. You poisoned them with your flawed definition, but they were allowed to see me as I wished to be seen. They gave me what you called “sister”. She cried to me, that I would not be loved by you, but I did not fade from your definition. You cried to her, imagining her as less than “angel”, but I would not allow you. She was my “angel”, not yours.

In your hatred of my “angel”, you sought to separate us. “Of Balance”, I was named. “Of Passion” she was named. “The First” I was called. “The Second” she was called. We could not be, so we had to be apart. My beloved sister cried to me, that she would not be loved by you, but she did not fade from your definition. Her tears flowed, and her smile glowed. I remained, and she blossomed. She would be loved by you, and through her, you pretended to love “angel”.

You would feel for her more than me. Because you would love her, you would love me; we would be preserved above you forever. Because you hatred her, you hated me, and by giving her the name “Airro”, you gave me the name “Tahi”.