Asylum Echoes

A Madhouse

2010-05-23T17:29:00.000-07:00

Sincerely, Adham ap None

"And she said that the woman over there was being a downright bitch to her! I think we should do something," a wife says to her husband, while their daughter looks with tearful eyes to them both. Over in the corner the subject of their conversation, the bitch, stands. A girl, a little younger than myself it looks like. Piercing stare; filled with judgment.

I hear the rain outside, close my eyes, and fall in to my thoughts. I've been doing it a lot lately, and it's made me realize, I cannot stand myself. I see all the things I should have done, all the things I could have done. I see all the insults to mother that I should have reacted to. My sins, and I'm my own judge, and my own jury. I'm my own God. If I had lightning, I think I'd shoot it at myself.

I'm lazy. So lazy. I know what I want, but I haven't the mental determination to attack it. All I want to do is sit here thinking; thinking about the plays, the poems - thinking about mother. Despising father. Thinking about sister, and the thoughts before. I thought about killing her. I even threatened it. Would I really? I don't know. The way I lounge about, I'm not inclined to do anything. Picking up a sword is beyond me. Training myself so I don't get tired toting that blade about is beyond me. The rain is so soothing...

And the people are not. I'm stuck inside listening to each false syllable. Listening to them go through the routines of life, routines that they know. If somebody laughs, they laugh. If somebody dies, they cry. If somebody lies, they don't ask why - they just lie too.

I hate it, but what am I to do?

The Slings and Arrows Pt. 2

2010-05-07T22:43:00.000-07:00

Adham ap Otis

Dear Mother,
It has been a month since I saw you last
(Your face shallow'd, like a grave)
I've been my own, as you asked
(In a voice that was not far from a rave)
Wish I could join you, for I say
There's no joy without you
Not one, single, day

I'm crying. Madness, to joy, to crying, within the day. I really must be going crazy. I'm sobbing like a child. Crying, from a single thought. I miss her.

If sister could see me now. This is real emotion. The gods above couldn't receive better.

26th, End of Spring, 1087

Troubled

2010-05-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

Adham ap Otis

Why not a stranger? Why not there? Why not now? I needed to channel my anger some way.

Puppets! Masked puppets dancing in the most common of ways. Oh compassion, boo-hoo, oh - joy! Oh, poetry, LOVE! It makes me sick, physically ill almost. An odd sensation fills the pit of my stomach when I go through it in my mind. It was fun, really, making them dance, pulling their strings. If I had spouted just a few stanzas, she would have gotten in bed with me, she would've been at my beck and call.

Fun and sickening at the same time.

Is this life? The pointless dances, the conforming movements? Father would have me believe so. Sister makes it seem so - and is everyone the same, or are all the interesting people just hiding underground so that they aren't killed by the ignorant masses? Better they hide underground. There are demons and Vek all around up here, or so everyone says. It makes me wonder why father would forbid me from the forests and the road. He's so fearful, yet he has complete faith in society and the guard. Just another fool, another puppet.

That man, that man at the end ruined it. Ruined it completely. I was out of words to shoot at him - he was simply that overbearingly stupid in the way he approached. Arrogant, high and mighty. Maybe next time, maybe next time.

I'm shaking with the joy, or is this anger? Adrenaline?

Am I going crazy?

26th, End of Spring, 1087

A scrap of paper, written front and back

2010-05-05T16:41:00.000-07:00

Untitled, by Adham ap Otis

Anne: The words were bold on your tongue,
Now dried and o'er used, too much in the sun,
Passionate light has dried them good.
Might you speak those words again?
Could you,
Would you,
Just once more?

Wessire: With the dawn, each day seems wronged,
Light jigs and dances 'round,
But I've no heart to be found.
The oncoming of night steals over, cold and right.
I may have loved, and held you tight,
But no more - not again - there is no 'might'.

The oncoming of night... horrible, horrible line. I might as well talk about asphyxiation on black shades and wights. Wights... that's good. Wights.

(Written to the side) In the shade which serves me right, I'll make love with a blackened wight, for I may have loved, and held you tight, but no more, never again, there is no 'might'.

Better. Wessire - where did I come up with the name? Maybe I'll change it.

I don't usually spend my time frequenting taverns, I leave it to the drunks and whores (sister sister, oh sister mine), but it's been a great supply of scraps. Little pieces that I can continue to write on, and also a great supply of great annoyance. Do -all- women act like that? Masks of makeups, armor over a conscience. Does it even feel anymore, or like a smith's stone in wartime; overused? Mother would never act like that. She was as pure as Cymur's flame in matters of the heart. Oh, mother...

She was nobility. The silk and finery gives them the right to do whatever they want, with enough gold leftover to bribe the God's forgiveness. It was that, the simple fact that kept my tongue held back. Cowardly as always Adham, coward for not speaking, not snapping them out of their charade, not breaking their masks over a bent knee.

23rd, End of Spring, 1087

The Slings and Arrows

2010-05-02T17:30:00.000-07:00

Sincerity, courtesy of Adham ap Ass

I found out the best phrase, as a summation of all the ruined thoughts that form her (thoughts that I picture to be spiked and jagged, like a chaotic line of machines coming up on the horizon to lay siege on my tolerance).

She bears depression like a ring of jewels, like a circlet wrought of gold on her head. Funny that I should describe it as a circle. That's what it is after all - subconsciously I know it runs in cycles. But it should be a complete cycle, whereas she breaks it. So what's wrong with the imagery of a circle? Right, the crown should be broken in a place, not to far from where it starts, and just past the finery of all the jewels which show like the eyes of Cymur, depicted in the painting.

Astounding that two of the same blood can boldly claim so different heads. She can take her crown and join the street for his bread, and may she harbor the plague between her legs. I should've punched him! I should have, should have struck him, tackled him, and took her back into the home. All those words he said to me.

'And when she rocks against me... it's all the harder...'

I'm a seething, Vek-gutted, coward. Next time, next time I'll have a knife.

No, what am I writing - I can't write that.

And all the while he just lets it happen, lets it pass him, while he dried the plaster of a dull-witted look and a smile across his face. How I want to burn their conception down! Though; what can I expect from a man half-dumb? Thank Elbahn I got her blessings rather than his. And now she's...

No. Don't write on that. I need to sleep, and if I get thinking on that... I'm already thinking on it. And the night echoes outside my window, saying come, come. I have things I could be doing, don't I? He'll kick me out if I venture out of the city, cut me off from his funds. If he's to make this my prison, I'll at least have eccentric freedom within it, and with all those masked-smiling-bastards.

Besides, I can never go to sleep when I start thinking of her.

Signed - 19th, E. Spring, 1087

(Gabriel)

2010-04-17T21:06:00.000-07:00

It was a pale luminescence that came through the cracks of the door, diminished by distance and obstacles. Still, it caught and illuminated the walls of the small cell.

Walls, which were covered with writing. Here and there, but mostly everywhere, writings of runes and symbols and vague pictures which were not even close to a complete scene, and always were drawn in the most crude manner. The words and images were flaking, but only because the blood was drying.

Scrawled in painstaking, block-like letters on one section were the words;
'The shade has torn his heart
Everything and nothing is the part
Will the Father return to my halls?
Where is the passion?
It's on these prison walls.'

A little apart from that were the words...
'Catfish
or was it mutton? Fie
Why can't I remember?
Lenore, or Emilia or or'

The symbols drawn were convoluted. Something vaguely similar to a snake, or perhaps an eight on its side. A triangle, a circle. Then, numbers. Eight, nine, ten, eleven.

'Spirits, spirits, in my head
When will I be free and dead?'

The light shimmered in the room as outside a man passes by the torch. A chuckle touches the walls, echoes, and disperses into silence, but this chuckle has initiated a response, a response from something laying on the floor. A pile of ragged clothes, dirty, knotted hair, and pale skin.

'What do I love?
Love? Love? I love blood.'

A groan, and the head raises, while eyes look to the door - though it's a wonder just how much they actually are seeing. So glazed over are those eyes, as if all the cerebral thought of Melchior Himself were encased in such a mortal, youthful form. The head falls to the ground, and the body twitches.

'From the east when the light is past the west
What was, I forgot all the rest
Emilia
Sarahmil
What was it'

'They give me just enough of it to write
But not enough to live, love, or fight.'

A dissonant melody bounces on the walls of the cell. Cracked. There is no beat to it, no tempo, no rhythm. It is not a song, but the lament to the death of one's mind.

'Where it is
It's blood's job to find'

Once upon a time... there was a shade.

2010-03-26T22:25:00.000-07:00

(Gabriel/Aldren)

A shade of himself was all he had to hold on to. The rest had been killed and drowned. He was locked behind bars, and inside he wept. There was a Father who didn't speak to him, there was a Mother who was dead - whose body he would not see. There was a love he couldn't love. There was a city where he would never be.

"Just give me the blood..." the words echoed throughout the cell. They crawled and slithered.

"That's one... two... four names... be back..."

He hadn't returned, and now the shade was frantic. There was a woman he tried to think about, but he couldn't remember her name, or if she had ever given it. There was something he kept trying to hum, a tune lost in the back of his mind... but his lips would not form it. Always and constantly there was a pulsing in his head and a pulling in his stomach. His skin crawled, his eyes burned, and his throat cried. For the first time in over sixty years the shade was actually breathing out of necessity, for if he didn't he felt he might implode.

The torch light flickered through from outside. Shadows danced on the walls, and where usually their edges would be followed by the shade, he was naught but unmoving. Unfeeling. Silent, and uncaring. Yet, his thoughts were a sea. A crimson sea.

'He knows... he knows... he knows the names were false.'
'How could he? How?'
'He's a Dryth! Could you not feel it? And you stupid, stupid - oh He would be disappointed.'
'I can't keep anything straight! I can't resist... I can't stop... my thoughts are like a mortals. They race, and, oh Lord help me! Lord help me!'
'What will--'
'No, no...'
'Tell him! Take revenge! The ones who put you in here, the ones who will take this city in their hands and crush it, waste it.'
'No! I must get out. I can use them, use them all! If I can get out, they'll find the ones who can be converted, and I'll teach them...'
'You won't get out - just tell him. Take your revenge on those souls who would kill with only the purpose to kill.'

'I remember something... a vision long ago... there was a sad man, and I felt him through every bone of my body. He echoed inside of me, and me inside of Him. To me He showed a vision of a garden in night, with beauty on the air, upon my nose, and in my eyes. Speckled in starlight every flower opened and closed, with each softly taken breath of the night...'

Now the flowers bleed red, and the shade might reach for them... but they crumble.

'Here am I sitting in a tin can...'

2010-03-04T16:37:00.000-08:00

(Gabriel)

The blood isn't everything.
The blood isn't everything.
There's more to it, there has to be. More to Him... more to Us...
Just a curse. Something we need, something to be dealt with like a fly.
It isn't everything.

I have never lied to myself about this. I've always known I've been trying to convince myself. It's always been a battle against myself, to tell myself that there is more. There is love, there are shadows, there is freedom, and truth. Yet never before have I been losing the battle so badly.

Who am I kidding? I've lost the war.

I've never wanted it more. I used to prolong it, prolong it so that when I took it it would be all the more sweet. Now it has been prolonged too long. On the edge of my vision I can see it, a crimson veil, and the tightening in my chest returns to me like lightning. Every vein which is on the man, shackled across from me, is apparent. Every pulsing -glorious- vein.

Stark beauty, and beauty it is, if I could but slice it open. I want it. I need it, so badly. It calls to me and calls, and there's no echo anymore to stop it. I am forsaken, forsaken and at the mercy of the curse.

I'm afraid I won't be able to stop anymore... I was a fool to forsake it so. I was thirsty when they put me in here, and now, now my very essence is slipping away behind it. Blood runs down my wrists from where the shackles cut into me. If I could break loose... I must break loose. I can't handle this. It's not the pain, no it isn't. It's knowing that the blood is all I want. It's never far from my thoughts. I don't want to find Lilian, I don't want to stay with her, I don't want revenge, I don't want to have the mortal love come with me into the night...

I don't want to play a fucking lute.
I don't want my violin...
Oh Father...

I just want the blood.

(Samir)

2010-02-27T22:07:00.000-08:00

A constant crying from the right, and a low laughter to the left.
Blood spurts once more over my face, and onto the grass beneath me.
I lay prostrate upon the fields. So many leagues away from me lays the few lights of the village.
Right beside me lays the hand of my brother.
Just a hand. A very bloody hand, without an arm.

"Samir..." the voice is softly whispered, and with such softness I awaken to the sound of a stirring household. Steps shuffle in the next room. The low voice of my father, speaking with a Melchorite priest, sound in the hall outside my room.

"Samir, Samir... here, lemme help you sweety," that same soft voice again, a voice so stretched and sad compared to the happy tone which used to be carried by my mother. I wonder, how has my own voice changed? I cannot tell. She helps me put my boots on, gathers my cloak about me, and kisses the cloth wrapping my head.

"It's time. They're gunna... burn..." she doesn't finish, and I can hear her move away to the far wall before she comes back and helps me up. I remain silent, and we move out the hall. Speech from my father, questions asked about my health. I shrug them off. The priest speaks out, telling me about my part in the ceremony, and how that if at any time I should feel uneasy that I have but just to speak out and people will help me. He tells me how brave I am for coming to the burning so soon after the trauma.

My mother leads me outside. I feel the chilly breeze on my face, and rain begins to fall on my face. It is Darkfall, and darkness has truly fallen for I can see nothing. I reach up a hand habitually and toy with the headwrap which conceals my face, the bandages which are caked with blood. The soft hiccuping of my mother at my side stirs my arm. She is crying.

It is the morning of my brother's funeral. As is custom, he is to be set on a funeral pyre... except the only part of his body that could be found were his severed hands.

The Faithful

2010-02-22T18:09:00.000-08:00

Blood.

Ever since, I've needed something to lean on. A lover, a violin, a vain mortal, an understanding immortal, and now a captive convert, who I can watch and grow to love... but even that's gone now. I've nothing to support me. All the bridges have been burnt. I was a sheltered fool, and still am, but perhaps I can set one thing right. Without the shadows, without whispered words and great slights of hand, I will do this - extremely bluntly - to prove what I've been preaching, and hang the consequences.

After all, what's the worst that can happen?

Oh right... I'll be put in a lovely, nice vase of skystone.

To prove what I've been preaching. A more valiant pursuit, I've never had. They are so stupid, but I have to believe. I have to have faith in them, faith that one day they might see the truth as I see it. Not with my sanity in tact can I throw myself at them and kill them for their stupidity, and so I will try to get the message across to them. I will be the abomination who might be nearly (or completely) martyred, for them, and Us.

But for the Father's sake... I think I pity them more then the Dryth.

Hearts in Shadow

2010-01-24T19:53:00.000-08:00

"Gabriel... will you not play the lute? It's sitting there, waiting for your touch."

Her raven black hair gently fell around her shoulders, and I reached out to grab it. As my fingers went through it, it was like there was a stuttering in the world. A rip. And my fingers went straight through her as if she was immaterial. A ghost.

"No," I moaned. The slow pulse in my throat was becoming too much, but I didn't want to move. There's something soft beneath me, and yet I can't see it. All I can see is darkness, and her. "I'll play the lute later."

The image shifts.
I'm still floating on softness.

"I want you to live, Gabriel."

Is that a bed I lay on? Yes, and there are the curtains of the house we had in Seahaven, so long ago. When I was still breathing. Yet, I'm not breathing now. I feel no heart in my chest, and again I try to reach for her, only to have that soft hair shimmer from me.

"Lilian... do you really want me to live? Is that what you would call this? I know the Truth, and the Truth torments me. What use is it to know the Truth if they won't have any of it?"

"My love... my love..." Echoes of the past. Echoes of passion, and it hurts. "Play the lute."

"You play the fucking thing, Lilian." The words were like venom dripping from my tongue, and she faded into the darkness only to reappear yet again to say; "Gabriel, I want you to Live."

"WE CAN'T LIVE!!"

"We live forever."

"No, we're dead!"

"Dead until the day we are blessed to life. Dead, and manipulating, and conning. Liars in shadows, monsters in darkness, until that day when we may assume the place once more. Go to your Twisted One. She'll know. Tell her that you don't want to be mortal anymore."

"But I'm not mortal."

"You are young... so young, and so wise yet. You've seen so much, and learned things beyond others of your age, yet your passion is your mortality. Save your passion for when we are truly free, Gabriel. For when there are no enemies left around you. Save your passion for hugs with your Twisted one. Save it for embraces with the Insane Child. Your mortality drives you further and further from the shadows...

In Shadows we are One
In Shadows we are All
Until the fall of the sun
Until we no longer have to run
Until we can live in peace.

Ask your Twisted one, she will know."

And then I realized that the soft thing I lay upon was a cushion, and it was extremely wet.
I also realized... the voice had been my own.

(( I'd like to announce to those of you that do check here (bless your little hearts) that this will probably be the last blog post I will be making for a while. A while, when considering I usually do a few a week. Thank you - Leech ))

Power

2010-01-23T01:49:00.000-08:00

Passion and death, wrapped up in one. Love, and then the hatred. The blade into the skin, the blood, and the passion. Without the death.

And is it really an anchor for me, a shelter against insanity, or a sail so that I might drift out amongst the sea of madness?

Is this passion real, are these emotions real, or an echo of mortality. Is it all a manipulation of the world around me?

I might never know.
I don't think I want to know.

The Truth

2010-01-18T13:40:00.000-08:00

It was all around me in the beginning, the truth of the world, the answers to everything. In those books, copies of words from Elders before, and before, that were in Lilian's library. Copies that I devoured in night, and then took their meaning to be some metaphoric process of living.

And yet, there's no metaphor.

It didn't take the opening of the Doorway to impart the truth to me. As is perhaps always the way it should be, it took blood, and the words of an Elder, words which spring my mind back to those days in the library with all those books. And in a way, I already knew the truth, I was simply blind to it. Now, it shocks me into sanity. Musical notes reach deep into my mind and tear me away from that which would take me down into nihilism.

I have questions. I've many questions, and the answers will come. But now, I've the Truth, and I've Purpose again, and I am living.

All things are falling into place around me, and there is a veil of darkness going down upon the world. I pity those who don't know the Truth, those who haven't been exposed beyond those paltry lies and services of their Old Gods. They will be exposed to so much bloodshed... needless bloodshed. The demons will see to it. They will tear their skin from their flesh, and blood will pour from the very gutters of the streets. The slums will be painted, silk will be crimson, and Ylessa's fountain will bubble with the life of so many dead. Useless blood.

Here I am, writing this page, underneath the light of the Red Mother's moon, and I feel sorrow for them... and anger at those who would blare this 'enlightenment' this 'falseness' onto them, keep them shrouded in the dogma of the Failing Ones.

"If you have been saved, and seen the White Queen, the Father must have some plan for you," the words echo in my mind, words that my Twisted one said to me. Words which in some way... I resent. I've known him for sixty-two years, and it's only now do I understand all that I've heard, and my understanding is growing... and yet there are so many more who are more deserving. Many more who are so much more perfect, and refined.

I'm becoming rather embroiled in it all. I must not make the mistake of losing perspective. No, never that. Then I would have truly failed Lilian. And now, to bury this parchment into the earth, where it will forever lay. My mortal thoughts, buried deep.

A Stutter

2010-01-16T23:14:00.000-08:00

I really fell apart at the seams, and rather quickly too. No matter that the Dryth still lives - the point was to make my escape and not have to worry about her calling Doraster, or the whole pack of Wolkin on me, and I believe I did that amiably.

But everything happened so quickly... even I, who is quickly losing his concept of time, felt it. I, who's mind is so sane, actions so rational, felt the insanity of the moment.

I couldn't even ask that woman for answers, the girl who looked like she had seen as many lifetimes as Lilian herself. She was so connected to the Father, I felt it, and yet I asked her nothing. Perhaps it was politeness, or that inane foolishness at the rate at which things were progressing. And then, it hit me. Promises of the truth.

The truth! Answers! All beyond a fifty ton metal doorway which I could hardly push open even if it was unlocked!

My mind is ravaged, my thoughts insane. I am not myself. Demons and blood, demons and blood... I have said I am different from them, Lilian raised me to be different. I don't enjoy it! The killing, the rape. Tits for ears - it isn't funny! Why did I laugh inside, why?

Why must this come when I've found her...? That lovely somebody who would fill the void inside of me?

Perhaps she can console me, and turn my mind back to what it was. Maybe I'm just pissed because in attacking the Mind Fuck, I lost my violin...

This will pass. It must. I will live.
For You, Father. Things will come into perspective once I see the Truth.

Falling Leaves

2010-01-12T18:22:00.000-08:00

By far, autumn is my favorite season over any other, even the Darkfall. The air, laden with the smell of dry leaves, moist leaves, earth, and chill is invigorating. I can blow my breath in a tube and have it appear to me in the form of a white ghost. I can crumple a leaf between my fingertips, and feel the texture of the dead thing on my skin - excitingly itchy and brittle.

To be in such a state of mind, in such a golden time, is more than I could have prayed for. I truly am blessed by Him for this, to be able to experience this novelty, over and over again. Seeing the various preparations for the harvest festivals, to be so invigorated by the four senses is an experience I'm not wishing to pass. To think I would have dulled this out, that I would have stowed away myself underneath layers and layers of reservations, in turn with wide smiles of the toothy kind, is madness.

My only regret is that I am alone. As I look at the vague changes of color, as I sit and watch them even as they change, for hours on end, I feel it acutely. When I stare into the sky, my mind drifts back to years ago when I used to stare at the same sky with a kindred spirit. We would sit on a rock, and I would profess a young affectation for her, and she would sit next to me.

How many women did I do that with when I was young? How many of them did I confess love to, only to have love replaced with disenchanted glances and a canyon of ambiguous emotions as my manner dissuaded them from me? I recall a few, though perhaps it was a fair number more. I can hardly recall those individual situations, and even now I don't know why I recall those in particular. It's only somebody to talk to, somebody with whom I can look upon things, that I feel a longing for, not a lover. In my loneliness, why would I not wistfully ponder back to my mother, and to her image? After all, she knew me better than anyone aside from Lilian.

And now, as I write the words, it strikes me. It's because I can't remember her. That's alright with me, oddly enough... I've no feelings of corrupt morality on it. Maybe I've no morality to speak of, or it's been so starkly convoluted from what Lilian left it as.

The raindrops are starting to speckle through the climbing roses, now. Perhaps I should stop writing.

The Art of Living

2009-12-24T13:50:00.000-08:00

Wherever they came from, these spawns of the Darkness are powerful. Their venom, it cuts through my will, and that's saying something. It's odd how I can cut myself, how I can be cut, punched, and even burnt, and yet it's a choice to me if I feel the pain or not. I can put a vast canyon between myself and it, or feel it as it is.

But no, not with the poison. It slices through whatever barriers I put up around my mind, and strikes me right to my core. I haven't felt pain so raw in a many years.

The situation has given me an awaking shock though. Since Lilian left, I've been so... detached. I've been losing myself to it, taking refuge in it. For what? As a defense against the very real pain of her departure? Regardless, it's carried on too long, and I'll be a slave to it no more. The safety, the comfort, has made me languid. It's hardly what I would call living.

I've been given a gift, and once again, I will come to recognize it.
I haven't been living - once again, I will live for Him.
I've blocked myself from the pain of losing... her. No more. I will come to terms with it.

A New Demon in the Mirror

2009-12-14T19:53:00.000-08:00

"It's been so long since I've been confronted with the things that I did in those first months," I spoke out the words in a quivering voice, a voice shaking like the candle which provided the only light in this room. "It was so long ago, I had forgotten, and it never seemed very important at all. Even now, I can hardly remember the times... they were so intoxicating. But what I have seen tonight, Lilian... what I've seen tonight was an abomination - an abomination to Him, and to Us."

The woman who sat across from me was beautiful in every way. Obsidian hair, as dark as a raven's feather, and her blue eyes - so much like the sea as it is obscured by night. I could lose myself in those eyes, and had before. Then, she spoke, a voice of empathy, of understanding, and of wisdom; lilting and filled with all these things. "My love... my pupil... if you can see this so clearly, than I have taught you well. It is not the carnage He desires; leave that to Morhiag, no matter how her followers deny it."

"How do we know, Lilian? How do we know what it is He desires. I feel Him, yes, I cannot deny that I am part of Him and He part of me, and you. He is our Father, and I love Him... but what does He want us to do? Children without guidance are hardly good children at all. You've taught me of Him, through your own experience, yet I've none of my own to base it off of..." I looked at her. I think, if I recall, I was pleading. I wanted so much to know what to do, what He wanted me to do. If He would but give me His will, I would have it done. I would destroy the whole damn city if He wished it, even though destroying something so enticing would hurt me so.

She simply looked at me, and smiled a thin smile. So much like the smile I employ now. Somehow, it's just more comforting. "When He wishes something to be done, and it isn't blatantly obvious, He will show you. Remember, we are a part of him. All you must do is listen to Him, through your own mind, and you will know what to do without any intervention from the Father."

Then, I asked the most simple question I could muster in my confused, fumbling state. "Why do they torture them so? Were we not all once like that?"

"They do it because they are sad, because they are mad. Because they don't know how to handle themselves, because they were confronted with the same questions that face every one of us, every one of His children, and they were overwhelmed by it. That, dear, is what separates those who will live for centuries, and those who won't last the decade. Those who last undoubtedly go on to serve the Father more than those who don't."

"Lilian... I want to live. I want to live for Him, not for the blood."
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live.

"And with my help... you shall."

Birth

2009-12-12T12:49:00.000-08:00

And when my eyes closed, it was not death that I saw. It was not sleep, nor dreams, nor agony that I felt creep upon me. It was the silent comfort of shadow, and the feeling that I could be in them - forever.

"Do you feel it?" The voice echoed deeply, and eternally, within me. It came from everything, for everything was it. Everything was darkness.

"Yes... I feel life."

"And what else do you feel?"

"I feel You. I feel Your pain... M'Lord, you are sad."

"Why do you think that?"

"You are sad, M'Lord, because You thirst. Not for the blood - mostly, but for knowledge mostly. You thirst for the world. You thirst for it all, everything. M'Lord, I feel that you are the most raw emotion that I've ever contacted in all this time, and it... it..." I could not speak, for my voice was caught it my throat.

"Overwhelms?"

"Yes," I could only weep.

"My Son, for you will be My Son, do not cry. I will walk beside you always, and you shall always feel this emotion, my emotion, echoing across the distance. It will be a reverberation of your own emotion, and it will echo your own emotion as if across from a vast canyon, for it cannot be helped. Your's pales in comparison to Mine. My son, I will feed you, and you in turn shall feed me, for it has been deigned that way. The so called 'Divine' would have it no other way than that we both desire this blood. My son, I will hide you in shadows, and from there you will live the rest of your life like any human - but you will live it for Me, and I will live it for you. In Shadow We are One, and in Shadow We are All. Remember these phrases, for if nothing else, they will guide you on your new life."

And it faded, only it didn't. I knew I was asleep now, but the Shadow didn't leave me. Father stayed with me.

The End

2009-10-29T17:07:00.001-07:00

From the perception of Cecil Nightengale, Armante Nightengale, Samuein Nightengale, and countless others.

Why does He do this to me...

Have I not satisfied you enough, Father?! Have I not respected You, given You the Drink, did I not DIE for you? No, no, that's not entirely true... I died for her, not You...

The pain is overwhelming. His shadow is on me no more. His protection is gone, and I cannot bare it. I can't bare it even if the pain wasn't upon me. I never wanted this! Go, my warped mind, unravel at the seems, for I would be disentangled from you forever more. I want these beliefs no longer, I want nothing. Please, just give me the void back. I don't want anything except a lack of everything. I don't want to exist!

And quite slowly, languidly, things fade.

"Please, don't hurt her! Gods, don't hurt her, don't hurt her damn you!"
Silence.
"Take me, let her live; leave her be - I need her!"
"Then you will lose her... but not in the form of her death."
All things since that have been torture, and now... they are gone. I am dead, or at least as dead as I can be. As such, I will remain, for as long as I can. It's only now that I look back and realize how arrogant I was. If only he had taught me... if only I had known what immortality stood to be.

There is none of that now. There is nothing but silence.

A Lapse of All Things

2009-06-24T01:31:00.000-07:00

It was night when I saw her. For the first time in who knows how many years, I saw the woman that I had given everything up for. I wanted to run to her, hug her to me. I wanted to tell her what I had done for her, my regrets, my doubts.

I wanted to spill my black soul too her.

Yet, what I wanted, and what I felt were so very contradictory. I felt nothing, I moved naught, and I stayed in the shadows. It is the place best for me. Yet, my wants, my thoughts turned towards ripping off this mask which I now so expertly wear and running to her.

And for a moment, I forgot who I was........

---

"Mother, mother! I'm right here mother!" I said, my voice bursting with excitement as I ran down the street towards the woman who loved me more than sunshine. Fondness for the reunion had pushed aside all my bad thoughts about her, and I saw her for what she really was; a loving, caring, woman.

"Cecil?! My dear Cecil? Look at you! You're all grown, into a man!"

"But mother, I'm still the same child as before. You're little child." And so I was. I was a child, in a brown tunic made from clothsack, scurrying in her arms, while the other children of the slums played around me.

"Oh, my, my, my! Dear Cecil, I've missed you so much!" She hugged me tightly to her, and I hugged her right back.

"Mommy, I've missed you too. I have something to show you!"

"Oh? What's that, dear?"

"Father, mommy! Father's came back!" And I pointed down the road where there, resplendent in a black robe was a tall figure. With a sudden leap forward, the figure ripped reality asunder. My mother fell into blackness, but she didn't fall for long. Soon the blackness crept around her, and I watched as my mother was devoured in shadows. Then, so too was I. In my place was nothing.

----

My emotions, my feelings, my wants, my desires, my thoughts and will have burst forward at the sight of this woman. Emotions... wants... thoughts... I can't tell the difference anymore. It has been cohersively merged together into what has become my existence.

Yet, it's all devoured, and my body quiets. I turn away.

So powerful is the Void that I would turn away from the woman who I had once upon a time gave my life too.

So strong has been my transformation through pain and all sorts of vile torture that I would shun this woman.

My mother.

For my Father. A shadow. All shadow.

The Drone Ceases

2009-05-16T19:54:00.000-07:00

From the perspective of Cecil Nightengale.

Buzzing and overwhelming. A fuzz at the edge of my hearing, always constantly at the edge, and bringing me with it. Annoying yet faint.

Always it has been such since the Rebirth.

It's a side-effect of the Gift. A side-effect, ever increasing as I crawl meagerly further and further from the rays of the defunct and broken Warriors of the Sky. It buzzes and sounds in my ear, the constant thrum of the city, the constant thrum of my own body (which is so faint now), and the constant thrum of those bodies around me. Never leaving me in peace, it's always there to remind me of that which I must do, that which confronts me, and that I am constantly, always hunted.

Yet... I hear nothing now. There's no sound, no touch, no scent. I am alone, and enjoying every moment I have of it. The pain lulls me into a state of meditation that until recently I thought impossible. Almost a state of sleeping, and I think; this must be what it's like when one grows indifferent to the world, and in their immortality, a still vassal for the Lord. It's a humbling experience.

Although I can feel naught but the Cradle of Pain (back and forth, soothing), there's still something that pokes at me. It's not unkind. Never was there more a gentle reminder than this of my station...

And that reminder is simply that I am thirsty.

Incineration

2009-04-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

From the perception of Nightengale.

He grasped my shoulder. It was in a friendly way, and he even tried making a fleeting attempt at a smile, but I pulled away quickly and walked to the wall. My thoughts were in a race; I was so... used to things now. I thought they would continue on like this forever.
"Sometimes people just have a... falling apart, Cecil. It just happens, and yes it's sad, but please - your mother will take care of you. We'll see each other still, but I just can't bear to be around her anymore."
I couldn't take this. I -loved- him, he taught me how to live, he gave me life. He nurtured me, loved me, and I could not imagine a life without him continuing to do these things. Such thoughts were horrible little spiders, and I swept them away with my pleading words.
"Please, please, just stay here - if not for our family, then just for me. Father, I want to see you all the time, I don't want you to be so far. Please, please..."
"Cecil, act your age. This is happening. The best thing to do is just... get over it."
The spiders once more claw at the edge of my brain, and my thoughts turned to much darker paths as I stormed out of our little shack. If there was a door, you can bet your ass I would have slammed it.
With a haste I hadn't intended for, my feet led me upwards onto a roof across from our residence. It was a very long, roundabout way up here, but I took the walk to clear my head. Now, I find myself up here, staring at the night, staring at the shadows cast by the stars and moon against the building. Everything was lit in a great contrast, for the moons battled quite completely for control of the sky. It was a beautiful night, and inhaling it's cold scent made me quite content. My thoughts no longer were touched by monstrous web-spinners, spinning their nets of darkness. I had turned to thinking about what I was going to do with my life. I would often fantasize at length when I sat up high. Most of my fantasies revolved around doing heroic deeds from the shadows. I would be a great assassin, striking out with the night covering me, but I would not murder in cold blood. I would destroy the evil, those that were not just or right...
Like my father, who's betraying me.
Like my cousin, going further and further away into more older and mature things.
Like my thoughts, which were turning darker by the moment.
I viciously shook my head, and took a deep breath of the night. At length, I pondered the stars, and what they meant. What they were. Jewels of the Divine? Or perhaps something else? There was an old woman, steeped in the lore of the Blessed Seven, who often spoke of them as mortals who pleased the Seven, and were ascended into their domain.
I never was much of one for such thoughts. However I tried, I simply did not want to get my head around heeding to something I could not feel, or see.

Father and I are walking around the outskirts, and he's pointing out the buildings of the city that we can see from here. The shrine, the hospital... it all looks so big. Yet, his gentle reassurance calms me in the face of it all, and I embrace him as we begin to travel home. On our way, we meet a stray dog with a limp. Father quickly moves to him, and picks him up. I watch, mystified, and we move on to our next door neighbor's house. Father hands the dog over to the old lady, who I've often thought a witch, and she takes it into a back room. We wait, and wait, and wait... and then she comes out, the dog following her. All better.
"A little good goes a long way..." my father said to me.

I am jarred awake. I must have been dozing quite completely, for by the way the moon is almost set, I reckon it's nearly time for morning. No sight of the sun can be seen though. I shake myself into further wakefulness and begin to scramble down the building; but I am halted by something. A sight. Below me, my father stands... entangled in the arms of an attractive, young woman. She has delicate curves; very pretty. I've never been much of a child to judge women, having much more fun simply playing seek and sneak with my friends, but this female was beautiful. However, something else made me wretch, her beauty did not stop me from hating her, nor did the carefree glimmer in her eyes which was lost in many women of the slums. At that moment, I wished she would die.

Because she was kissing my father.

Comfortably Numb

2009-04-10T15:33:00.000-07:00

In the view of Nightengale

Like a rolling wave crashing onto the sea during a storm, I have been hit by a certain vessel of understanding. Only now have I torn myself away from my selfish plots to see this wave. Only now, in the presence of the Void, in the presence of a blissful NOTHING world have I been enlightened with a certain feeling of... well, nothingness.

A sort of pain is still there, but it is mental. I feel nothing more, and I am left here to plot. For that I am thankful. This is a plethora of nothingness, and it clears my head.

This is how it should be.

Unwaking.

2009-04-06T21:33:00.001-07:00

From the perspective of Nightengale.

"This way, Cecil. I know of a new spot," he said to me, beckoning with a hand. He was so frantic when partaking in this game, and it embedded a likewise feeling of excitement in my own body, deep in my core. He ran through the alleyway and I followed, keeping close guard on my surroundings. During this time, it was always best to watch for the other hiders. It wasn't against the rules after all to give a hint to the searcher. We skirted near the out of bound mark, the garbage dump, and it was soon that he led me into another alleyway. I had stopped here before in my strolls around the slums; it was a peaceful place, though I never thought to come back here.

"Come on, up onto the roof. There's a perfect climb, straightforward, there," my cousin pointed at where a stone wall led up onto a wooden roof of a small, old home. Probably rented out as an apartment for a cheap cost, as so many homes were in the slums if they were large enough. We scrambled up, though I went with a bit of despairing fear. I had never been exposed to this high of a height before. It frightened, and excited me at the same time.

He didn't stop there. Across the roof he ran, onto another slightly lower one. He was heading for a small balcony at the border of the slums. The boundaries of our game encompassed this, though many players had asked for it to be cut off. However, the issue was never pursued, and we went within full limits of the boundaries. As we jumped onto the balcony, my cousin first, I vaguely remember thinking, 'They have pretty pottery...' before my foot landed on the railing. I had failed, and my other foot was sending me back into thin air with it's weight. I would have fallen were it not for my cousin. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to safety.

Later, we laughed at the situation (we had won that particular game of sneak and search). However, I had been embedded with more than a laugh from that experience. I was forever knowledgeable of how very awesome things looked from up high.

The pain has returned. The Eyes are upon me. The snake has bitten, and I will bite back twice as hard.

Shattered

2009-04-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

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.

Indecision

2009-04-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

From the perspective of Nightengale.

I am split in two by this mask. It is a necessary thing, for the secrets, the dark webs in which I can position myself by wearing it are invaluable; yet at the same time my immortal mind can hardly take such infuriatingly close encounters with all of them. It's... difficult. Perhaps this feeling will fade as I continue into my existence, or perhaps upon finding others - but sometimes I feel as if I -am- one of them. Other times I feel so overburdened with it that I just want to tear them apart and feast on their blood.

Patience, calm, patience.
"There is more to servitude in shadow than the Crimson Doorway can provide."

Those words ring about in my head, and still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm doing something which goes against my very being. Every time I strum, every time I speak out in song, I remember how GOOD it felt to sait the hunger. Perhaps I have yet to shake off the urgings, the naggings. Perhaps my will is not as developed as I would have liked to think. Whatever the case, this cannot go on. I must strike a balance within my own being; I have plans, I have objectives to further the Black Grasp...

Loosing myself to the red haze once more is not in those plans... but neither is assimilating with the lessar beings. In any case, I find myself drawn towards a deep sort of... silence. Perhaps contemplation will help me bring my self control to a complete fruition.

Awaken #2

2009-04-05T01:24:00.000-07:00

From the perspective of Nightengale.

"You WILL respect, you irratical welp."
"Come, Cecil, let's make dinner."
"Do you think of this as pain? Would you rather know the pain of a blessed pendant of the blasted 'Lord of Dragons'?"
"I'll kill you, I swear it. I'll kill you, kill you, kil..."
"Poor little boy. Dissatisfied with your offer now? Perhaps I'll simply go back and kill her."
"Master! Master! I have the knife you told me to get."
"Good, good... come here, boy. Engrave the letter upon your knife which the Darkness shall know you by."
"Cecil, son, you do it this way. You see, a circular motion. Make sure not to ask the noble for tips, either."
"You see, you betrayed her. Now, I'm going to kill you, and that whore too. You'll soak in her blood before the nights over... and I'll make use of yours for my Lord."
"The gate is sacred, boy... do not lose yourself in bloodlust, but do not try to stifle your desire, for it is a nescessity. We are His creatures, and he commands us."
"Yes Master... Master... Master..."

Agh! The pain! It's searing... it blisters every portion of my being. There's no escape; I cannot even move. The Eye of the Six are on me in this place, and their stares sear into me. Please, My Lord, save me. Save me from this suffering, save me, save me. Give me a reprieve, give me safety, give me existence, give me blissful darkness.

I do not deserve anything near to mercy, but soon... it comes. It cleans me. It washes over me, and I am imbued with new power, a body... and most importantly, my will.

And it wills me to take veangence, to torture those minds who think they can hide from the scars. My thoughts, however, linger upon what I told my friend before I left. I hope he spindles back to me soon with his eight legs, for before my time is done, I will need him.

Waken.

2009-04-04T21:26:00.000-07:00

From the perspective of Nightengale

Ah! My thoughts, they are returning. My plots, my brain, my intellect! Shadows, shadows, all around - they mean something to me now. I can recognize them. The red haze has failed, and now I can offer much more than bloodshed. I've gorged myself completely and fully, and though the want is still there, I have reached the point where I can control it. I'm growing, and my willpower grows with me. It's hard to control myself sometimes still, yet I'm not actively killing all things in sight anymore. I am very thankful for that, and I offer my prayers to the shadows.

The shadows!

They have been waiting for me. Master has been waiting for me to arise with my subtleties in tact and serve him. I must, I must, and I will. I have served myself selfishly, and now I must arise to my responsibilities or be lost into insanity. I grasp it fully and completely, except there's one more thing which I must do before I can commit myself fully and completely to the Lord of Shadows...

Whoopsie.

2009-04-02T23:06:00.000-07:00

All my love in life is for naught.

All my loves in life have nothing in me begot.

I am dead inside, and my eyes tell the tale,

Locked inside a mournful vale.
----
Melvina has denied me. My only other love besides her has nothing to do with me, for she has found another more... 'average' individual. Now, I want nothing more than nothing. Void, a pitch black void, is what I seek now. I've drownt myself in alchohal, and now wander the streets. My travels lead me upon a balcony, where I lean against and ponder my thoughts, and a way to escape them, forever.
Then, it hits me. Like lightning, like the speed of sound, the thought hits me. Death, death, and more death. It's upon this new percievance that I climb aboard the balcony railing... it's so high from up here, and yet I am not fearful. This is what I wish, with all my might, now. How could I live with so much sorrow and despair in my soul now? Women have filled me with darkness, and I've done nothing, nothing to them to seek the darkness out. I am but an unfortunate victim of temptation. Melvina tempted me... oh, she was, -is-, so beautiful... if I could but see her once more.

My foot falters. Perhaps suicide is not for me.

Yet fate has it no other way. After all, the railing was simplery with rain.

Whoops. Fallen.

Consumed.

2009-03-31T18:03:00.000-07:00

I thought things were fine... I thought they were good. I was happy, and in that happiness, I suppose I only did what was natural. I started to want more.

After I had tamed Melvina with fear, I had started to bore of her even more. I resisted the temptations mostly well here, oh! I was doing so good. I even had time to make more friends, and draw. Then, problems set in. I ran out of painting supplies, and money (nobody had hired me, much to my disdain). Yet, that was just the beginning. Melvina approached me one night, at the tavern. We got into talking, and somehow we got onto the subject of long past proportions. It must be this which had led me to inquire about love once more.

"Love me," I pleaded. Yet, she said no. I considered doing many things to inflict harm on her, but it was then that I realized, however much I might try to ignore it, she was the only thing that fed my temptation. My thoughts revolved around her. Her denying me, AGAIN, was a knife through the heart, and I was going to garner my revenge in some way. I was going to leech her of all emotions, I was going to -feed- upon her very core.

Before Darkfall even sets in, I shall have saited my hunger and stored plenty of nutrition for the storm season.

A sight for sore eyes.

2009-03-15T02:41:00.000-07:00

I've been found.

Melvina is in the city too. Whether or not any of the family has followed her yet remains a mystery to me, but I am certain of one thing; I must ensure she does not speak.

Temptation is fickle with me, for each time I see her, a yearning sprouts up within me. A yearning for past experiences and... oh! Even writing about it is difficult, and so, I simply won't.

Blast! She'll ruin everything. After nearly a year of my hard work in getting my supplies back, of surviving, of etching out a place in society, only to have her come here filled with knowledge that shall have me killed in a moment? No, this is not good.

And to that extent, I did what I had to. When I saw her shuddering before me, and perhaps even before that when I spoke to her (without a sharp point threatening to poke out her eye) I believe a new temptation came upon me.

Not one to be one with her beauty... but rather, to see, to hear, to experience through senses her emotions. It was wonderful. Master spoke of this, but I don't think I ever really took notice of it until now. The body is like a canvas in itself, and emotions it's paint. So it was that by my actions that I enticed paint to flow from her pores...

The paints of fear.

Living the Life

2009-03-15T02:35:00.000-07:00

Seahaven has left its mark on me. Out of all things that had first to happen to me upon entering, maybe this is the worst. Then again, death is always there. Perhaps preferable though in sight of losing my supplies.

I was robbed. Kindly enough, they left me only beaten, not dead. My supplies are gone though, most of my money (I had a few shillings kept in my pockets - they only searched my satchel), and my feelings of Seahaven; diminished. I am not as hopeful as I once was, and yet I can take comfort in the fact that this was an unbiased, simple robbery. Nothing more, nothing less. Had it been an attack for what I have done, they probably would have driven an axe across my neck and I would have seen no more.

Therefore, I am thankful.

But my supplies! All are gone, and if I am to have food to last me, I can hardly go out and rebuy them. My best bet is to try and find slight work around the city once I recover completely (I currently lay in a hospital bed as I write this). Then, I can start to rebuild my funds, and eventually get my things back.

Melchior be with me through the dark times which are bound to come.

Enter Seahaven

2009-03-15T02:25:00.000-07:00

And there it is, the brilliant walls where I shall be trapped into. Yet still, where else am I to lose myself? A cesspool of bodies seems logical, and perhaps there I shall find creative minds with who I may mingle.

One things for certain, I must resist it. The gnawing temptation in the back of my mind is not becoming of a great servant of Melchior, and I shall not deal with it's hunger, nor the consequences it may cause. I have seen first hand that it's not a good thing (though it felt so very good...). Ever since that day, I have had to change my lifestyle. Living in master's closet, for fear of the guard. Father must be furious... and oh, Melvina. Little Melvina. May I see her again some day, for even though I've done this to her, I still wish to look upon her, no matter the temptation.

Still, all else pales in comparison to Seahaven. Though the things I've heard about it from the people of Milford haven't been positive, it seems a certainty that I may find something here. Inspiration I've been looking for ever since Master died, unity I've been without, a stable job doing what I love. It's a sea of opportunity.

Yet, it's always gnawing and biting, and I fear the fair maidens here might prove too... much of an inspiration. I must not bite back. Quite down, temptation, I'm trying to enjoy the sea.