(Book One in the Celestial series)
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She didn't remember much of her former life---except for perhaps the cool scent of the ocean breeze as it filled her nose, or the hard-set lines of her brother's face, maybe even the tune her mother had used to...
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"History is written by the victors."
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"Don't underestimate the hell we can raise."
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"We fear what we do not understand."
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"There's badness in my bones. Shadows in my blood. Secrets in my veins."
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"I'll tell you a secret. Something they don't teach you in the temple. The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never meet here again."
- Homer, the Iliad
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IT IS ALWAYS A question of evil: life and death, and everything that happens after. Always a question whether our sins define us, or whether our good deeds make us great.
A quandary, an enigma—all of it summed up into a single, burning question:
Are we born evil...or are we made?
Is darkness crafted by the world, and wielded by those around us? Is our fate decided for us? Are shadows planted in our hearts the second they begin to beat?
Or is evil all around us, building and building, weaving into our veins like poisoned vines? Is it hidden in the words of friends and family, in actions, bleeding into our thoughts, stealing our minds?
Such questions have been begged since the world was crafted from stardust.
But one must wonder: is such a thing created? Is the notion of good and evil simply bred from a singular thought eons ago? Does it even exist at all?
Perhaps we all have simply fooled ourselves into believing there is a deciding factor. Created such a thing if only to ease our own immortal suffering.
In the end we all wish we could smile and laugh as we once did, talk as we used to. Burdened by the present, we all long for what used to be.
But such a thing drains with age. Fades as the world becomes clearer around us.
So, we pretend, we wish and plead for the sort of innocence that departs when we're young. We long for the days where all that mattered was the scent of the breeze outside and the laughter spilling from our mouths.
We act. We decay. And the more we deny, we dwindle. Suddenly, what lies and sleeps inside of us rots into something fractured and grave.
We wither.
And perhaps, what once craved good now craves evil.
- Me
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