-ACT THREE-

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-NEW WORLD ORDER-

-NEW WORLD ORDER-

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   Her dream started like this. 

   So silent and eerie, like a dark street with no one in sight. A chill crept up Evangeline's spine, made goosebumps appear on her arms. Only her footsteps could be heard in the abyss. She'd been here before, she wasn't scared. 

   But her stomach twists and turns in all of the worst ways when she sees that sarcophagus. The same one her brother had touched in a vision, the same one that now controls two people she still loves so dearly, even though she shouldn't. 

   Evangeline had once tried to save them, tried to beat the Titan King. But back then, her sword and words were not enough. Neither the soldier nor the poet in her had enough strength to help the ones she cared for. 

   Golden light emits from the tomb. The stories of Greek battles come to life, burn red like fire as it's all reenacted. A voice whispers in her ear. Evangeline cannot understand them, but she feels a tug in the pit of her stomach. 

   She takes cautious steps forward, mind beginning to bend and fog. The Goddess knew the dangers of getting too close and yet, she still wanted to touch it. She wanted to peak inside, see the remnants of Lord Kronos. 

   Come, it whispers. Come and you will have everything you've ever wanted. Surrender.

   She reaches a hand out. Almost instantly the tips of her fingers grow frost. Patterns embed themselves in her skin, burn her so bad and yet she doesn't retract. 

   If you have to burn it all down to start again, let it burn

   Let it burn. 

   Evangeline is overpowered with an image. Cities burning, people burning, everything set ablaze by her own fire. It is peaceful and terrifying all in the same token—the fact that she could be capable of such carnage despite always being so loving. 

   The lid to the sarcophagus is cracked open. Her fingers run along the rim before hooking underneath. But something stops her, dares to pull her away. The Goddess glances back, but there is nothing nor no one there.

   The cold chill trails through her fingertips and up her wrist, wraps around her forearm tightly but gently tugs her forward. No amount of personal willpower could keep her from opening that coffin and peering inside. 

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