He was blinded.
Blinded by the bright light that tore through his existence; a light that would typically not disturb anyone. In fact, the presence of this light would bring peace and joy to the soul.
For this light was hope.
Of all beings, he had the least of any right to touch it.
But he did.
He did, for her.
He did not know why. He did not question, for frankly, it was quite difficult to consider such things when one was under nearly intolerable pain!
All he knew was that he was battling fundamental contradiction. The bringer of termination and the inspirer of the new-- in what universe would they possibly be able to collide?
Well, he supposed bitterly, the time for that hypothesis had past.
All the while, the golden tendril of hope tore at his spirit. But he fought against its desire to destroy him.
Perhaps he had no right to come in contact with it, but she did.
He had to fight.
For her.
And if that entailed pain, one could say that he was addicted to the feeling.
Then all of a sudden, it stopped.
He looked around, noticing no difference in his surroundings save a slightly truncated right limb. It was no matter to him, for that was easily reproduced.
He only noticed a slightly empty feeling-- like a hole had been born through his center, similar to a void.
He laughed hollowly.
Since when was emptiness a feeling?
