Shattered

From the perspective of Nightengale.

I have emerged from it, and now things are moving quite too fast for my liking. All around me, opportunities arise so that I can grasp them by their necks and twist them to my will. It's good, I find a sort of contentedness in it; yet they are going by so fast. The whole of the matter is that they slip out of my grasp before I even have time to snatch my fingers closed. Considerations take too long, and I do not trust my 'gut' as THEY call it. That's for fools and brawny fools. No, no, I must be decisive, not eager, passive, not overly aggressive. Every move I make, I must remain shadowed, for who's to say that if puny mortals can find me, the light cannot?

My silence is shattered, and I have but only time enough to pick up the few of the pieces before it's shattered again. I swept out my murderer's hand in anger, and it shall not happen again. That one served no purpose dead; her essence was hardly even suitable to me, let alone Father.

I need to grip onto the world with a much tighter claw, for I move far too much of it by extending a finger. It's hard to stay still though, when the Snakes invite you to their den. I've a feeling this will turn out for the worse, but I must reserve the judgment I make now for future reference. After all, I need -somebody- who can feel the Night.