& naught has e’er been meant to stay : ephemerality, our clay ; and one pre-written day even gods dwindled away. with them, their rivalry, the sacred antipathy ; golden sainthood, or messiahs infected by wickedness, the spring-like bloom of innocent eras. turn to stardust this all shall, when suns ought to rot so beauteously in their supernovae, with a brutal grandeur whether the sky ignited and the soil was covered with ice. the personified hosts of infernal parasites, the snakes, though, must end in ash and meet HEL’s scorn, denied any regal execution. but usurper, were you not so wretched & have you not been both ? martyrdom sought / tainted, barbaric ? that sinner broke the chains of mortality, being fed nothing but a poison, colonized within your savior systems. o usurper, you aimed to writhe serpentine through centuries ‘till thirst for retribution shall be so quenched; & sweet ichor, however, ne’er ran down your doomsday-throat. do blame her, for skuld wore guilt like a sword ; cut with such the strings of life. yours, theirs, mine ; her own if you so will, she did as well, of undisclosed amount, in times and an age when champions were crystallized, and the failures cursed, DEMONIZED. she changed her own foreseen outcomes as oft as t’was needed to smother, and choke, and destroy the future of gods and men alike. ( lightning & thunder could not protect, only devastate, eradicate to the ground with sharp intent. )
pity and wrath, desert dry, only as echo roaming in a husk of a former, watchful comrade; not shield, or friend anymore. her prior sisterhood shall be seen only as hindering filth, wiped clean off the gears of time evermore. “ and here you are, decaying, but not quite as stellar — ” rose collected the redness of blood on her hands but: rose also only slightly restrained her own tongue with faint regret. tightly did fingers twine ‘round that warrioress’ blade, like the heavy ivy once overgrew the halls of her hollowed chest. & naught has e’er been meant to stay, you see : not the lack of mercy, nor the thorns safeguarding her deathless capability, to re-create a familiar warmth. yet beware. trapped was she in her own permafrost, coming when winter numbed her heart strings again, and again. thus loathe her, fickle and out of control, this relentless valkyrie, like you did fate. loathe her ; it shall be the price she would pay, but shan’t she sway. “ suppose you’ve missed that opportunity. ”