Death.Such is the fate of any living creature. Whether in our sleep soundly in bed, or randomly snuffed by an unknown hand.
What is a hero? Someone one who dawns a mask and wears a cape of crimson might? We know that's not always the case, but don't be so quick to say a hero cannot be a caped crusauder, or a masked vigilanty. For such a person is--or was, the Jester.
Known as the 'Spectral Jester', this heroine hid her face with a mask and cloaked her other noticable apperances with her self-made illusions. Her heart beat like anyother living being--even when in danger. Just because a hero is expected to face dangers doesn't mean they don't fear them. It was this fear that the Jester must have felt when she came upon a force she knew so well--that of evil. Evil hearts are those that care not for the lives they take, or the reasons for it, such was the kind of vile heart the Jester faced that fateful night.
A child. A family. All were to be killed; snuffed of their lively breath; just because someone wanted to see it done. The Jester was there and of course, being a hero, was not about to let such a heinous deed commence. Her eyes flashed, for a mere moment, as they always did when her power surged through her brain--illusions of the most real kind were seeping through her thoughts and into the air--but woe, we learn what more vile trickeries these evil hearts are capable of, for in that instant came a shriek! The vile heart turned out to be not a human corrupt of morality, but a monster, whose features were twisted in rage, hands and feet covered in talons. Such a beast! The Jester, full of a mind rich with creative thoughts, could do only enough to sheild the innocent victims from the monster's new found form! There was ripping and there was slashing! The grass so green was now stained red.
The mother covers her child's eyes, in hopes it will keep them safe from such a gruesome sight. The city roars with cheers--the monster has been slain! But the ripping and the slashing was not just upon the beast, but more so on the Jester. Is this now the time for the reaper to glaze upon the red grass and take the Jester away? While a mother weeps in both joy and sorrow--a hero is dead.
Or is this now, the time for the reaper to glaze upon the red grass, pause for a moment in thought, and then glide away into the moonlight? A hero is dead?
