In a lingering darkness, caressed only by the starlit sky,
in a land abandoned, by the gentle touch of Light,
amidst fading ruins, and roaming pathless desires,
stood a lonely queen, her throne forgotten,
by myths and legends both.
Lonely Queen,
lonely lovely Queen,
You, whose eyes are fading beneath vestiges of the past,
you, Ageless Queen, who watched uncountable lives come and go,
you, Firmament Wings, who gave us hope and strength,
you, Ancient Night, who relieved us of our drowning nightmares.
Why?
why do you now stand idle?
what sorrowless dream keeps You from your people?
From our pleas,
from our prayers,
from our hopelessness?
Day after day,
night after night,
Under vaults of stars,
after aisles of reflections,
stand the throne,
of flowers and thorns,
of human flaws and divine perfections.
There, our joy shone,
there, our anguish grew,
there, our despair twisted,
there, Madness raged.
I am but a wandering minstrel,
my sword broken, in a burned sheath.
A renegade, left without home nor flag,
disjointed armor,
boots of mud and mire.
A coward.
Yet,
in my frail and corroded mortality,
I wonder.
Oh Goddess of Krysalis,
you, Lovely Queen, who still sleep on that cursed throne.
Will you remember?
will you remember your people?
will you remember our loathing?
will you remember our love?
Will you remember us?
Poem of the Loather, unknown author, unknown origins.
Somewhere on the last edges of Life stood a watchful cliff.
This cliff had a name, a rather ironic one, but few were the souls who knew it....or, to be accurate, who remembered it.
One of these souls was on said cliff, in that exact moment.
Last steps on that barren land, that figure could not be easily spotted by naked eye.
Dark, obscure robes dressed this person, their color similar to that of the terrain while its head was hidden beneath a long hood.
Thankfully, a tired breeze was passing by, uncaringly sweeping heaps of dust.
This lazy breeze was enough to partially lift those darky robes, revealing drapes of an elegant silk-like material.
Meaningful colors and divine motifs were testament to an unmatched quality and a unique longevity.
Although the hands who waved it to life were now part of the mercilessly swept heaps, the dress was in perfect shape: no holes nor any discoloration, every thread was as it once was when millions of little suns irradiated that place with warmth and sounds and life.
A god's eye, on the other hand, had no trouble spotting the figure.
Walking through illusions and delusions, he gracefully reached the person with a polite smile.
He waved to the old friend, but she turned and walked away with regalic grace.
"How cold!" he joked.
"How friendly." she responded, not even a hint of playfulness.
Now the god was walking by her side, one or two feet behind, his attention grabbed now from the scenery now from the woman.
A small transparent mirror floated close to her shoulder, reflecting a spectacle not new to him.
Rivers of red between stems of grass and graveyards of corpses crowned by the emptiness of Victory surrounded the few survivors.
The indifferent, shining sun was hidden behind thick clouds.
Not a single gust of wind dared to disturb.
Pitiful droplets of water started their fall, Skies' Compassion, trying to comfort and cleanse those lost souls below.
"Oh my, did you take an interest in my new little project?" the god asked.
The reflection trembled for a moment.
Her face, hidden from the eyes of the visitor, frowned.
"Project.....After what you've done to them you dare come to my door and name it project?"
"Hobby is better? Amusement time maybe?"
The woman stopped her walk.
His smile changed from politeness to sheer irreverence.
She turned.
He was not a fighter by any means, so his eyes barely registered the movement.
Slap!
Her left palm smashed on one side of his face with enough force to turn his entire body sideways.
After the chorus of bells stopped ringing in his ears, he slowly raised a hand and waved a quick chant.
As he turned back to her, the jaw returned in place.
"It hurts." he said.
"That's the point." she replied.
They stared at each other.
Not a word came afterwards, but they spoke nonetheless.
A language without lies.
Meanings, thoughts and emotions in their purest forms.
For the first time, he witnessed the events not as a mere observer but as a protagonist.
Finally, he sighed.
He took a step back, slightly lowering his eyes.
"Time heals every wound...was it?" he stated.
The irony was palpable.
"I do not need your pity. Tell me what you want and leave this place." she commanded.
He closed his eyes, searching for the mischievous mask he always wears when talking to living beings. A few trials in his head and everything was back to normal.
His eerie aura came back, as his smile returned on his face.
Plans and goals, wishes and fears were ready to be shared.
The request and the reason which, for the first time in his lifetime, pushed him out of his Garden were ready to be heard.
"Goddess of Krysalis....."
"I've come to request your aid, your life and your duty."
_-'-_-' - _-'-_-' - _-'-_
Autor Note
Hello wandering reader. I'm glad you reached the end of my prologues!
I ask for forgiveness if my English comes as weird to you, sadly I am not British nor American ^^'
New chapters are coming soon... but I won't bother you more than this.
Hope to see you around!