I once could fly, without burdens

I could not be held, tamed or grounded. But for a dream not entirely my own I embraced stranger burdens of the heaviest kind.

And with them I could no longer fly. But my enemies remained above, they could fly without burdens as I once could, touch the highest mountains, survive the deepest abyss.

Thus I awoke in twilight. Unique in this age.

Advent of the crystal palace.

The sky rains red ash. It is a beautiful sight to see the spots of shining red fall from the heavens like stars. But beauty is as always deceiving for all. The red touch turned to hard crystal, its violent invasion and manipulation of the land echoed screams like scraping glass.

High up in the diadem the hundred and one high ministers gathered, overlooking the changing landscape they feared the wrath of the false princesses. The horror of her power to change even the lands crippled them further.

Fresh to the mountain the acolyte stands among them with panic too in his heart. This raging war has finally come to their doorstep, his thoughts a panic as he overlooked the slowly growing red.

The stories he's heard of her aren't pleasing, not a single one. He once thought that those who believed such stories of her cannibal nature were foolish, gullible idiots that would believe even the worst of propaganda but now, here, to see her horror with his own eyes made him fervently believe.

“Fools!! They will doom themselves alongside us!” in an angry outburst a minister in the crowd bellowed. His voice echoes far but not beyond the peak of the mountain where they stand.

His statement darkened hearts even further, to face this enemy who fights with reckless abandon, uncaring about the future they'd bring.

The acolyte's soft sobbing escaped his control, subsequently growing into a loud balling akin to an orchestra they all slowly joined, creating a cacophony of bad music. Those below heard the weeping mountain, to them it is the ultimate sign of the end. An apocalypse to end the age.

In the acolyte's mind he laments his days of tireless work. Of gazing up at this mountain with longing, dreaming of brighter days. His childhood wasted, youth worthless.

“We are not chosen,” another minister cries in depression. Deepening their hopelessness even further.

Soon she will breach the barrier and assault the city then the mountain. All know her legend to be ruthless and they who have resisted will be purged.

They've started banging on the door. From beyond you can hear the hoard, screaming, frenzied.

Those in the temple city cried. Knowing that they'll die horrendously broke their minds, like lunatics many pleaded at the beating hoard.

But at this time one stood out. His ethereal spirit rattles the air, All recognised him to be the temple head. His wind usually has a sweet fragrance and gentle temperament however this is not a time of peace.

He spoke sorrowfully, with a heavy hatred“ Today all of us will die. There is no recourse, no way out.. so do not beg, do not deny.

That evil bitch pretending, play dress up will not let us off. And so, we! being the last bastion of good in the world, must fight… even in the face of defeat, we must!” His attempts to rile the people worked to an extent, some let their fear grow into hatred, others gave way to madness and the rest just cried.

The acolyte cares not for good and evil, he was not raised to fight, no lofty dreams of righteousness cloud his mind.

The simple temple life is all he ever wanted, why could he not have it. Why must it fade from his hands so soon. Regret consumes him, bitter regret and utter hatred.

Suddenly, with a loud cry and rushing wind the barrier tore like a warm vail contesting against a sharpened blade.

Terrified screams echoed through the sky, all the people screamed in abject terror. The stories of the hord's ruthlessness lives vividly in their minds. The sight of them bleeding through the cracks like water, their varying colors blinding under the red twilight.

Countless people of the city butchered!, ancient structures toppled. Knowledge and culture defiled.

There is no army to defend. No able body to defend, at least none useful. All the capable people were killed on the battlefields weeks prior.

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The acolyte resented their barbarism. They have already won yet they storm, unsatisfied. 'Greedy'

As time passed the masses chose to resist even in their dying breath, 'what was there to lose, what else was there to choose.

Even in his fear the acolyte joined in resistance choosing to die, exalting his hate...

She is here, so quickly she assailes the temple. Eager to topple the mightiest mountain, Oh how her name would ring throughout history.

To carve out your own name in history has been every man's dream but she is to name history itself.

In this moment, looking upon her ruby red crystal body the acolyte felt his deepest despair and greatest of jealousy. He thought 'How can something so beautiful be so unforgivingly crewel… why has she such grace. Such luck, why must the heavens destroy my dreams for her own.' A final tear accompanied his final thought. By her blade he was mortally struck to the floor. Without even the mercy to see the idols of his dreams fall.

Like gems we dance in twilight.

This balcony is my brightest jewel. Overlooking all under heaven it is most prised. And standing here, on it, I am a beacon, the bright star in the looming dark. This is my home, my domain, my promised.

However they will take it from me if I don't fight. If I don't kill.

Thus down the mountain I sent an edict of death. In the coming days they will scream and cry of a mad lord burning kingdom.

Deposition!, death, deposition! Retribution! Then death! they would cry.

And the people would listen because I caused them all to suffer.

They will not see the poison they drink, instead the drunkenness it brings.

I too once drank sweet poison, and here it has brought me. Lord of all I see yet traped by it. Cornered by the very forces I nurtured. By the very treasonous beasts that I raised.

Ungrateful, crewel, they will take my mountain if I let them, their unworthy hand would stain my legacy.

Like gems they dance in twilight, below in the cities they rush about. Some for work some for play or pleasure. Just by being they resist the all pervasive dark. And I am proud that I made them shine.

Although we can no longer fly, we can still build ladders to the sky.

' My lady, perhaps it is time to rest. This night's dark particularly dark.' Clara speaks to me. Her tone is submissive despite what her words suggest. I agree with a soft nod and leave my things unsupervised.

The sound of walking on my ruby floors never gets tiresome. It's wide berth allows sound to echo far. Making it a terrible place to whisper secrets. Like running water the walls, floors and sealing flow into one another creating seamless architecture. At many corners my grand portraits hang proud, telling of my triumphs through the age. Long ago I underestimated the resilience of history. To truly own these walls others had to forget. I knew it then and I know it now and yet even after many millennia, after all the old folk tellers have died and monuments destroyed, the awful whispers still persist. I have changed this mountain, even chained it down and yet. I have already been poisoned.

The cold tub boils in my presence, my price for this dream. Long ago I was told forewarning stories of the cost of power. Unique in this cold world I am a heat unwelcoming. To steam the water boils as I lay slowly drifting off into sleep.

Clara did not disturb me, she knows I like these few relaxations and I trust her to wash me with dedication. Don’t I?

I dreamt of a red sky, like ruby glass, from translucent fractals light shone through in sparse pillars.

Gone was the cloudy white sky and thick misty horizons. Only darkness and red remained. Here I am the truth, the only truth. From me the winds flowed cerise and the mist churned scarlet. I am lord undisputed.

I awoke to the continued twilight, dark but never truly silent.

It shone dimly through my wide crystal windows, the calling of a new day. in which I must survive.

Looking through the window I'm again disappointed not to see the countless wings and dust that are staples of this season's migration. Despite investigations I'm left without answers, a troubling sign, foreboding even.

The day begins and she comes at the exact hour. Ever diligent Clara flutters about the room, opening drapes and windows, changing the sheets and tidying my things.

Today is not a dusting day, thus she attends to me sooner.

Two maids strolled in with a large basin to.fill my bathtub. Quite strong despite such slender figures, One transparent, a clear crystal shimmering. The other, an emerald spreading her green hue all around. Leaving as swiftly as they came, Clara and I are alone again. She says nothing knowing I’d not say much this early in the day. She with graceful hands relieved me of the thin blouse. I wonder what's the rush.

She bathes me , dries me, dresses me. Prepares me for another day’s suffering, ‘ You must live in style, doing your best while looking your best’ she says. An adorable little thing.

It gets boring navigating these lonely wide halls despite the company. Lazily I said to her “ Tell me a secret”She looked confused for a moment, on her face a stupid frown and absent eyes. Swiftly she surveyed the surroundings with a glance then promptly told me a secret. A lie in whispers that I already know, but never before recanted by her. Even more sign that the noose gets tighter every passing day. Stories lie but never her. Right?

Into the veranda of well tilled sand we eventually strolled. Eccentric circles spin around the sparsely placed crystals. Others find it to be strange, as with many things I do.

To me it is even stranger, for from those dreams I'm inspired. Dreams of things I've never known, customs alien to our kind. Nevertheless it all feels natural.

Feailer stands there, staring admiringly at the intricate swirls, he awaits our morning meeting. This garden of sand has come a long way from crewed beginnings, now perfection through practice has spread this custom throughout the land.of which he is the greatest of participators.

“My lord” he bows with practiced elegance. With shining eyes he looks to me with absolute loyalty.

But I see the deeply hidden greed, the point at which he would betray me. Don't I?

“Ah, It is Lovely day now that you decided to grace it with your presence” he tries to flatter, Always hoping to receive my favor. The events of a usual day are boring yet necessary.

“Follow” I replied as I led him into the vast garden. For miles we could walk, even days, or years and perhaps lifetimes. Clara stays behind, tending to her other responsibilities.

As we walked he talked of many things happening in the lands. Most of which I already know.

But I listen, I wait for all his well placed lies hiding within truth. His mouth is a fine apparatus, his network is even greater and to stand before me each day is testament to this power. Leached from me to them be spun into a hanging noose.

Yet today seems different. He speaks no lies and it frightens me to see that neither of us know the current truths.