With the brazen sky, you see this misery? And yet, it is almost as if the sky is nothing more than an elipse as the spirit of your own demise faults what you should be. Your skin is not as evil as it seems- nay, your heart is lighter than my own words, this touch. You were not born to bark banes at the world, to stand as a mountain in the midst of saints, and even so, here we are. The peak spired for the sky- a sky of landcasted stories, of misfortune and all this loss you caused this world. Though, one must assume it may not stay a fault of your own.
We entreat for you.
