Folded hands they once were, standing in a circle that spilled unison, prayers spoken aloud, and with tears ever-flowing – they knew that time was coming to an end. For in a faraway place a sun once shone rampant, ever-consuming, ever-burning, acting as a beacon to the final fates which marched to bestow fruition – a beacon that’s blood has long since been spilled, but a beacon has long since brought bright a new. For both the all-consuming darkness, and the ever-blinding light know not the bounds of time, it is merely within the crevices of reality alone that they meet their mortality, that they are truly able to meet their end. But until that moment comes, the battle is ever-waging, never ending, like a cycle since the dawn of time.
It is at this moment where the cold has begun to seep in once more, and the final fates that I have come to know of so well now seek to be brought to fruition. For they no longer merely beckon, and they no longer merely march. It is now that they are here, present; spinning and weaving last of their wishes and ways into this crumbling reality – for when it all finally comes undone, the fruits of their tumulus labor will be all that remains, all that resides within that empty space, and it will consume like no other. So in these fleeting moments where there is light, I draw my blade once more; not the blade that was once used to ward off the very forces which marched alongside the fates, but instead the blade which was forged as an act of the bestowment of the fates themselves.
For with each moment that carries on from this time and onwards, is time that fleets from this reality, from this life, and bleeds into the next one – which and wherever that may be; whilst cycles I have come to know intimately are tarnished, poised by the very existence of this existence-state, and so they too must now be brought to an end. For the fates that are soon to be brought to fruition now are the very fates that will see to the contents of my eternity, and so the actions I must make now are the actions that must be made for the sake of all things. Because during this sacred, yet fleeting moment of balance, seemingly, all is at a standstill, and time slows down. But soon, and all too soon, this day will pass, and the cold will come, all of this as sure as this sun shall die. For when I close my eyes I am vexed to see the looming of a blackened moon, I am enticed by the melodies of an echoing tune, and I grow weary for rest that resides within the depths of a phantoms devouring tomb.
