Hush, child.
The darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep
Child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep

Guileless son,
I'll shape your belief
And you'll always know that your father's a thief
And you won't understand the cause of your grief
But you'll always follow the voices beneath

Guileless son,
Your spirit will hate her
The flower who married my brother the traitor
And you will expose his puppeteer behavior
For you are the proof of how he betrayed her

Guileless son,
Each day you grow older
Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold
For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul
Will die in returning the birthright he stole

The lullaby his mother once sang to him before a peaceful slumber echoed once again through his illusive mind. Oh, the irony that this was the only melody that could help him sleep. An irony that that he was never aware of until now and even then, he wasn't quite sure why it was repeating through his mind over and over again. Yet... This lullaby held truth to its words, and thus, he held it deeply to heart. The only truth his parents ever shared. The other words spoken from their richly-fed mouths were lies. All of them. This was part of the irony, ofcourse.

Dripping. Trickling. Blink. Fade. Sleep. 'Dream'. Wake. Repeat.

It was the same every day. Every single night. He was forced to repeat that one past experience accompanied by that ever-so-sweet albeit bitter lullaby. The church bells reminded him of the exact time his mother would sing it to him every night. Yet the time, soon faded from his memory; like the rest of his life and he inevitably succumbed to a will that no longer existed.

He was forced to re-live that one memory. There was nothing to his world, if there was even a world for him anymore. A paradoxial life. No matter which choice he went with. Everything and everyone he knew would soon be lost in the fiery abyss of his slowly-fading memory.
He now lived within his own mind, or atleast, he had done, until awoken by the one and only memory he could actually call upon for help. Himself. The memory of himself was all he had left to believe in. It was hard, but it kept him alive. Both mentally and physically. Thus, he had to rely on himself. Thus starts the beginning of the end.

The end... How do I define the end of a memory that's playing on a constant loop? The end of the loop is not the end. It is the beginning. Vice Versa. Forever.

Again... Dripping. Trickling...
I finally give up... I've no tears left to weep. I've no blood left to give. I've no strength to carry on. I've no family to return to. I've no goal to follow, no place to call home and no enthusiasm to regain any of the previously mentioned. I don't exist. I am dead. Nothing is left of me and I do not wish to start again. Even if I had the chance. What's the point? I didn't think fate existed until now. The Fallen Angel has proved me wrong. Yet... I can't give up because in my own reality. There is nothing. Nothing to give up in the first place. Not even the memory of myself. Not yet...

Falling. Ever Falling. Through mist. Through time. Through the lifestream itself and severing the strings of life I once had, yet they go untouched because of my memories. They act as glue, keeping everything I have stuck together. They go untouched because the Fallen Angel wishes it so. She looks down upon me with a smile but I can only stare blankly and watch her expression fade... Fade into the same expression I'm forced to see every day and every night for the remainder of my non-existing life. I do not know why I am still here, yet I am not. I must contradict my own thoughts. It is habit. A good habit that I must forever keep until I finally understand that my life is actually worth something. I dig through my own memories. The only memory that I have, pieced together by the few insignificant ones. A puzzle piece that only I can put together. A puzzle piece... That only I can break apart... I lay in wait for the missing last piece so that I can put an end to my life. To my memories. Nobody should have the burden of carrying such thoughts around on daily basis, 42 hours a day... 13 days of the week...

The smell of blood was nothing of unique entity to him anymore, especially his own. He was under a constant 'enchantment', trapped within a boundry he set up himself, hanging by the wrists that were knotted with chains. His wrists bled a neverending stream of scarlet. His eyes were a dull amethyst, flickering on rare occasions. The only provided 'light' of the dungeon he belonged to. He remained dangling above a small pool of his own blood 10 feet below. How was it possible? How was he keeping himself alive? Why was he keeping himself alive? He was gripping the chains himself. He could quite easily let go and free himself of the pain but he chose not to. He remained still. Vigilant. Despite his mental state. A fascinating sight yet such a gruesome one.

My body is covered with scars but only the Fallen Angel can witness them. Not even I am allowed to see them. I have scar for each of the times I've lived my memory. My scars are beginning to scar and I no longer feel the pain. I should be worried yet I am not. I am unique, just like everybody else. I am only allowed to feel the burden. Harness the burden of my memory. I am under no illusion and no magic. I am living under the strings of the Fallen Angel. If I had my way. I would have died long ago. I am starting to ponder the thought of why I am here in the first place. Yet she forbids me. I forbid myself. I hold myself in contempt.

Knock, knock...
Evil snicker.
Turn gaze upwards.

Dripping. Trickling. Blink. Fade. Sleep. Dream. Wake. Repeat.

The snow fell with the upmost of grace upon the travellers cloak, binding him with the nature of water and air. It was the only thing beautiful about that night other than his own 'freedom'.

Hmph~ Freedom in it's most beautiful form. Such a rare sight. Such a rare image. I will not need to embrace this memory, for it is already done. Linked in the puzzle pieces of a broken mind. My broken mind.

The air itself smelled of confusion and hypocracy. The sky was ebony and torn as he turned his fusing amethyst eyes to the mellow overhanging shadow that dusked over the world they lived among; A fallacy upon the world that was drowned with sorrow and grief. The clouds drifted infront of the moonlight and obscurred the traveller's surroundings and himself in darkness momentarily, and as the moon's gleeming essence shone back down through the ebony embodiment of the world, he was no longer there. Or atleast, he had changed. Changed his mind. His whole attitude about the world. The only thing left of his past existence were his footprints, which were soft and delicate. Birds scattered from the leafless winter tress as their watchful eyes and small minds took this into account. His cloak scattered behind him and the wind brushed against his pale skin. He halted again, and took one last memorisation of the scene he'd just created. Oh, if only he knew the irony of his future.

Drip. Trickle. Blink. Fade. Sleep. Dream. Repeat.
It was his tears. His memories falling apart in forms of liquid droplets. They stained the snow with a burden so heavy, that even the gods and goddesses could feel the shame he felt. With the vibrance of the most mysterious of intentions, he strided forth with long steps, leaving anything of his past burning behind in a trail of snow and ice.

Knock, knock...
The last sound he had heard from those he held close to heart as he locked them into the cellar and tossed away the key. It was more of a 'Bang, bang' but his mind interpreted the noise to the sound of the lullaby beating away inside of his illusive mind.

Evil Snicker...
It was then, did he come to realize that there was absolutely nobody around. Not anymore. It was merely the amber flames and silent screams that the cottage behind had gathered. Soon to be forgotten. Soon to be nothing more than dust. Unnoticeable in the breeze of the snowy-bound air.

Upon the horizon lay his only dream. His only thought. He walked away from the blazing scene behind him with a casual stride, humming a tune other than the lullaby he knew for the first time in his lifetime.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Time skipped like the Gods themselves wished it so. Nobody noticed. Apart from him, and the Fallen Angel that sensed his presence from Paradise. The snow became heavier, thicker. It gathered upon his cloak and garments yet he could not feel the sensational chill he desperately longed for in order to sooth the 'non-existing' pain. Then, suddenly, the snow dissapitated into clouds of indigo smoke and glitter as the male transmuted himself from one location to another, leaving the scene with a heavy smirk. A glittering-white fang held loosely down over his pale lips.

He was now standing upon a tower of magical entity and surroundings on a coastline so far away that only the birds would be able to witness the marvelous sight that the male now laid his eyes upon; should they ever find the tower. It was the winter-embraced world set out before him, available for his dictation. His emphasis. His ever-so non-existant emphasis on the world. It was his new sandbox.

Full of life, full of adventure, full of naturistic embracement. Full of corruption, full of war and battles, full of puppets. I used to think differently but now the times have changed. I will forge a new world from the deep darkness within my heart. I will forge a new life to carry out my bidding from the organs of my body. I will render the skies with hatred and the ground with fear. This world is no longer a world at all. Or at least, it won't be, after I'm finished with it.

It will take time. The first stage is merely like letting a blade heat in the furnace. My plan is already under way, and they are clueless. The kingdoms fill their people with false opinions. False hope. They will see, soon enough.

This tower. I am 'home'. No longer available to the outside world. The only contact is 'her'... The Fallen Angel. Alas, she has been named that very alias for a reason I cannot state. She is in no position to reach me at this moment in time, but if she sought after my location, she would inevitably know where to look. She is my one and only, yet she is my dearest enemy. I hold her close to heart, and she does the same for me. Or so, I hope. Hah~ Hope... I have not felt this feeling for a long time.

I shall send her a message. I shall send them all a message. A word of warning. A message that will strike down the weak and make the strong cower. This night is perfect. A perfect night to start again. The beginning of the end.

The male peered out into the seemingly endless distance with his eagle-like eyes and focused on one place in-particular. The ever-falling snow had no effect on this male's vision and the glories essence of the full moon was the only source of light other than a few flickering torches that were about to die out. He held out his long arms towards the distance and muttered an ancient language, unknown to most of the world. Then suddenly, there was a bright flash of pale yellow and the skies echoed with thunder and lightning, rip-roaring so loud that even the male himself became somewhat startled.

Then all was silent, and the storm moved forward towards the distance with a vibrance so terrifying, even the Gods and Goddesses themselves were not happy. They knew what was coming, and there was nothing they could do to stop him. Or perhaps, they did not want to. Perhaps they actually liked the idea of creating new life. Perhaps they'd give this male a chance to show what he has got. We'll never know. The storm grew closer and closer to his chosen city until eventually it stopped. A moments silence as the inhabitants looked upwards with confusion. Only a moment.

Flash. Roar. Heavy rain. People scatter for shelter.

The male simply stood at the top of his tower and smirked as heavily as ever. The blanket of what used to be the sky was now a gaping void for his new 'beings' to come forth. They already existed in small numbers within this world but there had never been as many as this. There were hordes of them appearing at the foot of his tower within a small army-like formation. They looked intelligent. They looked... Normal? They were the perfect predators. Unsuspecting folk were sure to be fooled, like so many have been in the past. They took the form of the most populated race of this world. Humans. He simply cast his arms out and spoke his affirmative voice out towards the mass of his newly formed beings. Again, the now 'unknown' ancient language. Effortlessly, like it was nothing. The beings simply nodded, and replied with their seductive tones, all at the same time. Like some sort of necromantic cult:

"The bidding of our master is done, thus we shall take the word of his tongue. So mote it be, let harm come to none other than those intended."

The storm was lashing down it's wrath upon the city. His message was very clear to those he intended it for, and utterly undecipherable to those he didn't. It was perfect. It had definately caught the attention of 'her'. The one he intended it for as she rushed, mounted on her steed with a cloak of her own that masked her appearence.

This, is where our story begins...

Lost Journal Entry 1:

There she sits at the place of fire
Watching the flames leaping higher and higher
The racing flames let her eyes sparkle green
A cold and cruel beauty never before seen
The face although formed of flesh and bone
Is set and stern like a mask of stone
Yet does in this sight no cruelty appear
causing rather pity than fear
Brown hair is framing this ivory face
Embroidering it like a beautiful lace
Opposite her a strange wanderer sits
Tall but slender with eyes catlike slit
He, too, is quiet, not moving at all
Watching the fire's rise and fall
His face has features alien and strange
Fine but not human with the light they change
Both were fearless warriors once
Clad in armour both steel and bronze
Many a fight in their lives they have seen
Opposing evil wherever they have been
But even they were defeated one day
When an evil sorcerer crossed their way
He damned them to live forever in trance
To witness forever the same fires dance
Yet the good forces on earth wished them well
And altered the evil's casted spell
One will come, never born to the land
And the curse will be broken by his hand.

Lost Journal Entry 2:

Cobalt waterfall like mantle swirled in the stiff breeze,
I stood transfixed between ancient trees.
Clouds gathered sable black,
Clinging to the mountains snowy cap.
With a salvo hail pelted the land,
Dark goings on which I couldn't understand.
Entering the lair once again,
I leered into the campfire as rain began to stain.
Honey dancing, showy rays,
Abstract faces appeared in smoky haze.
A tower tall, an evil place,
Once cerebral now adorned with spider lace.
Stonework scarred, worn by weather,
Oozed black fluids almost blood like liquor.
I starred closed into the flaming vision,
Tongue like wisps seemed to call, seemed to beckon.
Dancing waves, wind I feel them all,
Faces resume expressionless in the tower wall.
A place in the grip of death,
Like melted ointment I felt its breath.
Then a face met mine it blazed,
A smile so evil as I sat and gazed.
According to whose command one rules,
That is mine wizard, anointed in the tower pool.
You cannot stop what is in the stars,
Darkness will reign my army will scar.
In one melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
The fire explodes I'm slammed to the floor.
Swept by alarm I pack and take flight,
The Dark Tower would not clash once again at night.

Lost Journal Entry 3:

Upon the wind-warped path I cross,
Tread almost placid from the carpet moss.
Hail now rain hue in sheets of cold,
Thunderous clouds blistered and rolled.
Shadows wandered storms again,
Worn relics of torture murk now pain.
I would not let the Dark Tower rule this land,
I had stopped it confronting with my very hand.
I trudged as if still in a daze,
Until my thoughts settled so did my gaze.
Path was spreading getting wider,
Silky patterns glistened from a praying spider.
A tree seemed odd sunken thread,
Almost cavities and a face of dread.
Branches started to thicken shoots now claws,
Before me an Eye Of The Forest man-of-war.
Tingling energies I attuned my mind,
Incarnations summoned warrant unwind.
The beast moved foreword stomping the ground,
An evil aura displayed around.
Mocha brown now raven black,
I raised my staff preparing to fight back.
Blackened, charred hole from a lightning blast,
Magic arrows invisibly cast.
Branch-like claws slashed and mawed,
Disemboweling cut almost scored.
Firing an arc of citron fire,
Stumbling as my will began to tire.
Claws caught fire like kindling sticks,
The whole mass I had just lit the wick.
Flames rubious licked the beast,
Exploring cracks in a frenzied feast.
Deep blood curdling howl from the heart,
I received it all in my heart.
For casting spells drains my life,
I feel the administration of a cutting knife.
Flamingo flames devoured the sable, beast like an artiste,
Gathering my thoughts I carried on southeast.
The Dark Tower had been a portal of evil for decades,
Creep whispers through the bloodless glade.
The Tower had once been a comely place,
Ruled by a king and the elder race.
But the fusion of the dark one again,
Had changed the land bringing despairing pain.
Cryptic minions now reel the walls of cold,
Thus my odyssey takes me my story unfolds.
Onwards towards the city... That city...