The word of the blessing of Cytherea, how she blessed the truthful and the righteous who were to exist in the time of trouble; rejecting all the wicked and tainted. Enoch was a man of purity and balance, to the voices of its angel should it obey when she beckoned. Though through the phase of sorrow or the time of blithe, should it accede, without a portion of doubt, not caring their bewildering appeal.
The man of truth and nature it has been called for decades, has the people look down in fear and despair as he took the blood of the ‘innocent’. It was however still a man, breathing, though numb it too still feels. Its voice sang like a hornet, sword raised, which cut through heavens and earth, it conquered by day. Crystal pearls pool up and it shall drink it whole, without leaving a drop by night, only to create another facade by the day. The snow tainted boy has written once within a book that is now long lost in history :
“Some despair isn't meant to be forgotten. Some lives aren't meant to be saved. Some things aren't meant to go in one's way.
Tell me, gentlemen, what is there to live for? Affection? Fame? Gold? Or is it to find a reason to be worth? For one who could not have the ability to love someone... Something... I suppose there is no longer any feel of living any longer within this world, no?
Now tell me, why was I saved by what was supposed to be against I; therefore, the fiend that was supposed to be buried deep unnoticed hath been given a second chance, escaped once again from the colourless.
Why was I chosen? I could not tell whether was it a blessing or a curse... Either way, I would prefer to return it to the hands of my Father.
The people said that an error occurred during an inhumane experiment, which resulted in an explosion great enough to be able to kill hundreds; which it did, made something as great as destruction seem so light to a being's gaze.
However, may I tell you now the bitter truth. That all along it has been I behind the soothing angelic screams and cries, I was the cause of each and every one of their hopelessness and desperation. Even to this day, I could not rest without a single howling screech that that day has brought to me. I did so, in the hopes of I too, will sink down with what I have destroyed. With the hopes of I too, will find peace within the flames of hell itself; where I would happily trade that sort of position for this one.”
The rest of the script was history, did it lose the need to complete what was started, or did the rest disappear to dust? No one could answer but the writer himself.
Let us travel through his story, shall we? I shall guide you through it, though some might be lost.
It whose cries were not heard by the gods nor were they heard by man, knees pulled, hugged tightly to his chest, its head buried into them, in an attempt to silence its sorrowful sobs. Who were they to care? Mocking eyes looked down at the child they call ‘grotesque’, as the snow white boy screamed in agony, needles stuck in within every inch of his body. Poor thing, but could you really blame them? It was nothing but a mere item! Worthless, what a waste of time and space don’t you think? Living in such agony, it should’ve died a long time ago, and he did.
Its angel whispered to him once again, let it obey even if its to sacrifice its life. The snow white boy has crimson covering its body and soul. Does it care for a single life besides its angel? I suppose it is quite obvious of the answer; where he could watch the world if it is to burn with glee if its angel was the cause of it, or perhaps told upon him to light it aflame, Or even if the olden crimes and punishment is to return back to the days of present, if it is in the will of its angel, it will without doubt obey without the need to know on the reason hiding behind the angel’s intent on the act.
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