I am known to the Pokemon universe as something unattainable to most- a legendary. My entire life has neither beginning or end, and I will be trapped for all of eternity on this planet.
Like all my other siblings, I am made to serve a purpose. And that purpose of mine is to protect and guard the dreams of the slumbering creatures beneath me. I'm forever above you, all of you. I am your guardian angel, have been and always will be.
I see everything that has troubled you- each and every one of you- I see your past. Your torments, your pains, your agony- I'm here to take on that burden for you. Maybe I'll present you with a happier illusion when you sleep. Maybe that will help you to rest.
It's all right. You won't need to feel pain in your sleep anymore. I'll be there, doing my best, and give you even the tiniest bit of happiness for that fragmented period of time.
And in exchange, I'll take every torment and every surge of pain you have. I know it slowly destroys myself every day. But I serve no other purpose; I am only a tool in this machine called the universe. I never die, never live, only feel pain each passing day, but somehow, I can still feel this word, known to you as "happiness"...
If I wish for it, hard enough... will it come true? Can I create a past for myself? Can my life have an end? Have I finished my purpose in life?
But- I need to save someone who's drowning in the deepest of nightmares yet, someone so lost that he has become the definition of "nightmare" himself.
And then, when we can finally slumber instead of protecting the slumber of our fellow Pokemon, and fall into an eternal world of peace and silence, can we wake up again?
And will I be able to hold your hand and smile for once?
/lαժօ ճlαղcօ\:
P̳r̳o̳c̳e̳s̳i̳ó̳n̳, escucha un solo instrumental, una historia que trascendió de p̳a̳d̳r̳e̳ a̳ h̳i̳j̳o̳. El triste cuento de su amor perdido, la pura r̳e̳i̳n̳a̳ b̳l̳a̳n̳c̳a̳, a̳s̳í̳ c̳o̳m̳o̳ c̳o̳m̳e̳n̳z̳ó̳ todo. A̳l̳g̳ú̳n̳ d̳í̳a̳,̳ u̳n̳ d̳í̳a̳, en el que regresemos de nuevo a casa, nos daremos cuenta de quién siempre ha estado destinada a ser l̳a̳ p̳e̳r̳d̳e̳d̳o̳r̳a̳ a̳l̳ f̳i̳n̳a̳l̳ y cambiaremos completamente la leyenda:
/lαժօ ղҽցɾօ\:
Hace mucho tiempo un viejo habló sobre una antigua fábula, acerca de una b̳a̳t̳a̳l̳l̳a̳ d̳e̳ o̳g̳r̳o̳s̳ y e̳l̳ g̳o̳l̳p̳e̳ m̳a̳e̳s̳t̳r̳o̳ d̳e̳l̳ h̳a̳d̳a̳ l̳e̳ñ̳a̳d̳o̳r̳, maligno en excesividad. Es oscura, tan oscura como para que n̳u̳n̳c̳a̳ m̳á̳s̳ creas en ese tóxico pasado amor, ni en l̳a̳ m̳a̳r̳c̳h̳a̳ d̳e̳ l̳a̳ r̳e̳i̳n̳a̳ n̳e̳g̳r̳a̳, así igual de terrible; pero a su vez g̳r̳a̳c̳i̳o̳s̳a̳ c̳o̳m̳o̳ e̳l̳ a̳m̳o̳r̳, alegre melodía a pesar del crudo gobierno que nunca morirá, en los s̳i̳e̳t̳e̳ m̳a̳r̳e̳s̳ d̳e̳ R̳h̳y̳e̳.