Number 2
You are a blank slate.
You live in the ruins of the palace that once was, tainted with the lies of dragons.
You wander through the eerie silence, never finding an exit.
You are at fault.
Shadows weave through you, tendrils of guilt. You look out the window, only to find endless crimson.
You wonder what lies beyond this barren pit of greed, greed, greed, only to find your answer in the far distance, where ash smothers, and lava burns.
Déjà vu is the right hand of Fate. Will your perfection be the final straw? Or will the final straw attain perfection?
Your blood is a flood of rubies,
Luminescent,
Unrefined.
What will I ever do, to reach holiness.
I'm the colourless sunset that is forever damned to this fairytale of gluttony and shame.
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