See we now the end in all things. See we now the shade of changes swiftly creeping. Look we then to the past and the dream of what was, only to have it shatter before our eyes. Comforting illusions give way to harsh reality, the truth of which does blind and burn, rending flesh from bone and bone from marrow until all that was is no more.
They mourn and I mourn with them.
Hallowed vales of white then green pass us by underfoot. Away in the distance to the right leaves of gold shimmer upon the horizon, twisting and glinting merrily beneath the failing light, only to burst again into colour as the moon or sun reaches down with caressing hands, teasing life from the breathless. But on we walk, sightless to its wonder, our eyes turned only to our destination. East, east and east some more.
Within our mind comes images unbidden of sentinels soaring, emerald-topped kings at court reaching high, so high. Proud bearing and lofty air, these jewel-crowned Lords bask in the tender affection of the Lady Light, breathing deep of the gold dust 'til their chests swell to bursting.
Sighs of longing become screams of disbelief. Memories not my own crack, splinter and fall to the earth, sundered by truths of what is. Deepest jade turns black before our eyes, the tall and straight becomes twisted and bowed. Skeletal hands reach back and forth, nevermore for the Lady above, seeking throats nearer to claw. We see, we hear, we feel; this is home, but no more.
Gone what was, replaced by what is and the liquid diamonds spill forth, consumed by barren dirt below. Hearts swell and shrink, ripped and torn by realisation. Lost now, forever beyond our grasp. Her lifeless eyes stare into mine and weep do I for what she was.
Flee, they cry in whispers broken. Fly.
Fall we then as talons reach, grasping at the fallow earth to pull us down to the depths. Pushed and pulled into the pyre, we burn and burn, consumed by flames fanned with despair. Heat so intense, it reduces us to nothingness. Naught but the memory of pain remains and soon not even that.
From the ashes to rise; no longer we, but I.
Reborn, remade, recreated, the little crow turns her back upon the eaves, taking wing for the flight to another past and the future to come out of it.
