In yesteryear, I stood upon the precipice of Desire.
She spoke to me, a crooning voice,
and I listened: to break myself upon Her jade.

And so I took the cage upon my form,
to fly without wings, to struggle without existence
except as was given by Despair.

And in that mire I dwelt, breaking myself
in Fear, that jaded poison that bore away all tears,
and again and again, my ashes spiralled before Her.

And bladed Malice came and was wielded with jeers
by ones Gifted to drive with words of acid,
and ever and ever downwards I danced, chaotically steered

by Her crooning voice, the atmosphere within me
of Corruption, of Her own existence
lending me to Might.

And so, steadfast, I persevered,
ever downwards to bring jade to every touch,
and honed with hunger to examine each defense,

to fan to breaking the seed within each peer,
to find within the core that tumbles ever,
each one, down the precipice of Desire,

to find Her,
and within: Her dark, Mighty frontier.


Penned by my hand on Closday, the 23rd of Lanosian, in the year 485 MA.