TO KILL A GOD, you need love.
TO KILL A MORTAL, you need to be a god.
TO KILL YOURSELF, you need to be mortal.
TO KILL LOVE, you must kill yourself.
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They died on a mountain.
No, not Olympus for it was far too ethereal to touch with their fingertips.
They died on a mountain, where the sun glares at them in such intensified hatred as the actions resulted to pools of sweat while they burn.
The heat did not hurt, though.
They had already crashed and burned before, such experiences are nothing for divine providence.
But they weren't as divine like before.
And so the crash affected them badly.
Reduced to tangled limbs and crimson blood, mess of beings who didn't value what they had, mortality is a curse in their rosy lips and thorny hearts.
The gods struggle across the slippery slopes and mossy stones. It seemed like a place where immortals dwelled and mortals sacrificed theirselves. The whispers of death surrounds them— or was it the wind? They do not know the difference.
A storm brews but it does not brew in the dull leaden skies. Instead, it brews inside the raptures of their beings, in the cracks of their soul, in the missing pieces of their hearts where the storm is calm at first and slowly ascends to raze what is left of who they are.
After that they remember nothing, goes back to nothing, becomes nothing.
Ex nihilo nihil fit.
Nothing comes from nothing.
And this is where the gods die— a mountain.
But they killed theirselves, long before Olympus became that nameless mountain, long before they even got to call it home, long before they became susceptible to death.
Nothing.
They died on a mountain.
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DOCENDO DISCIMUS
SpiritualTHE GODS ARE NO MORE- they have succumbed to mortal sins and all that's left in their wake are the stories of their divine destructions.
