Welcome to Gaia! ::

The pain of the entirety of the world held in a single drop of water, turned to glass in the last moment before it could escape the prison of it's own existence. Falling upon the ground, it shatters into a thousand pieces of horror and pain...soft upon the new leave's morning dew, mingling with the world we see.

How will you wage the war of life for one more day upon this plane? Can you bare the existence...or will you merely ask for the cessation of the life's glow that burns deep within you, reflected in your eyes?

I am a healer and a teacher of this...this pain, and the end of this pain.

For only by embracing you're suffering and owning it can you possibly hope to abate it.

Deep in the dark core of the night the child cries as the Black Sister Fae sucks the life from the infant. And all that was good and still innocent becomes fuel for the wicked. The wretched being crawls back into the night, and blends into the shadow. Leaving the mother to cry evermore and anon for the loss of her beloved son. Bleeding tears upon the soft sheets of her son's dead and still corpse, the good Fae hearkens and touches her heart. To let her know that life is a passing thing, and her son has passed on to a place where it is not so horrid.

The mother holds her hands to her face in awe of the pain, and she falls down to her knees, held in the moment of the eternal despair, a moment which lasts forever, for she never forgets it, and she never escapes it. She stays still, and her breath grows sharp, she lets out a scream in the depths of the night, which is swallowed by the eternal darkness of the world around. She falls over, and she refuses to live...if her son has been taken. She refuses to see, if she cannot have him.

Where now is the world of grace and beauty?

Gaia, the love, reaches out to touch her heart, she comforts her, the mother of mothers, and gives her a thought which she can then hold. A thought of love...and of a daughter foretold.

There is the world of grace and of beauty. In the hope of the new which will come in the spring. From death the new becomes, and vibrant life sings. There is the beauty, in the depth of the night.

The hope of the spring...the hope of the light.

The mother passes from time, and in a moment she sees...all is still fine...her child is now free.

Hope and acceptance.
Hope and valor.
Death and neglect.
Death and horror.

In the depths of the night she reaches out in solemn grasp for a comfort she believes cannot be there, he reach is desperation, is instinct...last hope before the falling of the world. She reaches out and a hand touches hers. She reaches out and her hand is grasped by another.

Filled again with hope and life for a new beginning, she breathes. She inhales in that moment. And she is capable of life again.
She is renewed.

Her soul justified for one more day of meaningless existence before the new end and the breaking of her world. Where there will be no one to avail her in her despair, save me...again.

When one word and a soft caress can be as a valiant spear into the heart of the dark. To ward away the death and decay for a moment to allow the love and joy to prosper and flourish for the last sparkling moments of the life's lingering hold.

Such is the role of my spirit, to hold this stark fortress in undiminished glory before the breaking of the Order into the spiraling Chaos of the hells around.

I am Love.
I am all you have in the end.
All you have ever had.
For all that you achieve will be forgotten.
All that you collect will disperse.
All whom you meet will one day part.
All that you build will one day decay.
All life you see shall die.

In the end of the dark journey of life, the struggle which you have so one-pointedly focused on...what matters?

If you have not love, you have nothing.
If you have not hope, you are dead already.

fascinating....