The Book of Love

There was a time, after life left the universe but before the stars extinguished, when he would arrange the cosmos to spell out his message in the chance she would gaze upon his labors. "Why am I being punished? Where are you? Please, come back."

Waving his hand over his lap, an empty book appears. "I have to tell my story." Damien bites the tip of his index finger to tear the skin in order to write in eternal ink. Jotting down the title in his own ancient text, he says, "There must be a record of what I tried to do." He went to work, shivering from this realm's temperature.

It was only a suspicion at first, this feeling of losing his preeminence. For too long he lay latent in hell, but he knew how to solve this problem.

Damien lived a wonderful life, rising within the military ranks and becoming one of Caesar's top generals. He went through the motions along this mortal life searching for the one he came to visit here on earth. Stepping into this plane of existence, he shed most of his power to wrap himself in the flesh called Marc Antony. This Roman general, this vessel, was only a means to an end since the spirit and the man never became one.

Or so he thought. "This can't be." It was then he figured out that he had also lost his omniscience, forgetting the incantation to sustain omnipotence.

Anger consumes the beast as he reaches out to every corner of the universe as if to snatch his love out of the abyss. Could it be that she was not able to reach him?

Marc served his mortal king, his country, but mostly the spirit within. It was like a pit of rage deep in his heart, pushing him through trials and tribulations from birth. Deception, fearlessness, cunning—merely tricks of the trade from this endless fountain of drive.

"No. She can do anything." He returns to his default form with fear chasing at his heels.

His life took a turn after Caesar's assassination, causing the empire to divide. Marc took control over the eastern region while his enemies gathered their strength for an impending crunch upon his domain. It was then that he sent word to the Egyptian queen who he heard could be a powerful ally.

He did his best, in the beginning, to give their children gifts. At times, he would become angry and give them pestilence. Every act, born out of passion, was a desperate attempt to gain her attention. After his bouts of rage came bargaining. Bargaining turned to depression, and then he would bounce back into rage to start this rabid cycle over again.

It kept him going as he denied a fate he knew he did not deserve, a fate in which he could never be with her again.

Standing, on the bank of the Cydnus River where it met the Mediterranean, Marc stares at the western skyline holding his hand close to his eyes to block the sun. Perfume dances downwind, sailing on a soothing breeze that stirs the beast inside. Floating down the river, foreground of the setting sun's magnificent rays, her beautiful brilliance shines. She sits upon a golden throne, surrounded by her servants, creeping ever closer.

Where he stood now, there were no more stars and no more lives to inhabit. No more time and no more space. His spirit now drifts beyond all things material—sulking, aimless, and defeated.

Damien could feel it. This was not the first life he lived, but he could feel it nonetheless, this notion of coming to his vessel's surface. A burst of energy consumes the spirit as Cleopatra is placed on shore. She stands to greet Marc while Damien leans in to use the mortal's eyes.

After spending a handful of decades walking the earth, he set sight on Cleopatra and knew he found her. Not the woman per se, but the spirit he sought after.