Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard Some do it with a bitter look Some with a flattering word The coward does it with a kiss The brave man with a sword
— Oscar Wilde
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Among the Monsters☾⋆｡˚ ⋆ ❝Do you forgive me? I can't forgive myself. ( The blade is hanging over their heads and time has run out ) I already have.❞ ☾⋆｡˚ ⋆ I was a thing long lost, unearthed
There was no hero.
Heroes, as any mortal would understand the concept, were meant to save, love and protect. It was foolish, but it was something beautiful, this idea that so many sought power in.
No, a hero wasn't this. Not to the Folk Under the Sea, not to the Gods of Earthen-Blood. In the deep waters of the world, where were kept the grandest memories, between walls made out of starlight, a hero was not what humans believed. A hero was someone who played a Star, a person who thought of themselves so grandly that they could shape the very movements of this planet. And halt it.
Why, some asked themselves. Do not keep nature from its tracks. It is a costly endeavor.
(To reverse death, to bring back love. To make something lost found and something found lost. To stop pain and put an end to wars. To set things right, a broken reflection of what it was like before. A hero was a person full of love, of passion, but did not know that things come to an end. Did not know when to stop.
