From shadows to light
...it's been some time since I've last told anyone a story. I remember it used to be one of my favorite things to do. I thought myself an adept storyteller. Maybe I should get back into the habit. So allow me to tell you a new story of myself. I died once. Death is not familiar to demons. At least not such a finite death I had suffered. I had my life's source energy drained from me from a creature I had perceived as a being of light and goodness. He made me believe in just such a short time that everything would be alright. That the whispered words he had for me could release my sorrows and start me anew. I should have known better but I didn't think of anything else...and I didn't trust who I should have. And because of my foolishness, because of my nievity and my lack of trust, because I believed I had found salvation in a creature disguised as light and purity, I died. During my death I had forgotten. I forgot all things near and dear to me. I forgot the things I stood for, the things I stood against, I forgot about the people I loved and I cared for. I forgot about myself. And when you forget yourself, you feel as though you're falling into a empty black hole, as dark as the pit your memories have fallen into. And in that pit there is no light, there is no one there to save you. You continue to fall in hopes that the menory you have will be enough to save you. That the one name on your lips will catch you and bring you back to the surface of your mind. And so you focus solely on that name. And so I did. I remembered his name, I remembered two names. His and hers. Creatures that I loved so dearly, I died for them. But really who could blame me? Angels were marvelous creatures that even a demon born in shadows could not help but bow to their beauty. Could not help but to want to fall at their feet and beg that they shined their light on you. And in my death, I suppose some of that light they possessed did shine through. For my reincarnation was another task I must been through to. Sad to say I don't remember what happened during my trial of reincarnation. I remember gaining my memories back. I remember the feeling of deep guilt for not believing my best friend. I remembered the sorrow I'd felt for leaving my child. I remembered the anguish that gripped me upon the realization that the one that brought me to my death was not as it seemed. Pain. Shame. Guilt. So much guilt. I remembered it all. And I relished in these feelings, because I was me again. If just for a little while. I could remember everything and I was no longer falling into the black abyss of my own mind. And though it hurt, I wanted this pain. I wanted the feeling of being me again. I wanted everything. And at that moment, pain was all I felt and all I was. And I wanted nothing more. A darkness clouds my mind when I think of my reincarnation. Only to be broken by the tinkling of bells and a giggle of a woman that could be described as nothing more than chimes clinging in the wind. She offered me another chance at life, a chance to do something with myself and these memories. Strange, how easily you take your memories for granted until they're pulled from under your feet and your falling face first into the ground. I remember, she had a beautiful smile and a lovely voice. I could say she seemed delicate, as fragile as a glass ball, her skin porcelain and her eyes a vast, dull blue, as though the sky itself had planted it's horizons within her. But I would be lying. On the outside, she looked frail. But her voice spoke of years of wisdome, of tales of beauty and of horror, of sights I could only imagine within my minds eye. Her laughter was chimes, but her voice was a steel gong, strong even after years of abuse under a ruthless muscian. And this woman spoke to me. And to me she said, would you like another chance at life? To which I heard “would you like a chance to live and to right your wrongs?” And to her I spoke. And to me she smiled. And I had clarity like I never knew before. Today I sit in this room that now belongs to me. I sit on this bed and I stare at its celing, and I repeat to myself “This is mine. I'm alive.” Alive is such a strange concept after death. My heart beats, my blood pumps, my eyes blink, and my chest rises and falls with each breath I take. And I remember: once upon a time I had no life. I took no breaths. I had no blood, I had no heart, I was not me. I was pure and simple nothing. And out of that nothing formed a shadow, and from that shadow formed a demon. And that demon took shape, took a name that shall be no longer be uttered from these lips. Then that shapely demon took a new life, took a new name and a new identity. Took up an instrument and never put it down. Took the love of angel and never looked back. Took a soul that slowly replaced the shadows it had once been born from so long ago and shone a light so brilliant it was sure to blind those that looked at it. And from that light, the demon was no more. The demon, with only a name he remembered, denounced his true intent and nature of the world he had once known. And embraced who he had become. And the new name he had taken, that he held close from one life to the next, that would be spoken time and time again for many years to come was simply known as: Gullius.