Some are born to sweet delight; Some are born to endless night
He has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead
He drew his bow and made me the target for his arrows.
He pierced my heart with arrows from his quiver.
I became the laughingstock of all my people
They mock me in song all day long.
He has filled me with bitter herbs and given me gall to drink.
I have been deprived of peace
I have forgotten what prosperity is.
So I say, “My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the Light.”
I remember my affliction and my wandering
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope
Because of the Night’s great love we are not consumed,
for Her compassions never fail.
sounds of a freshly sharpened quill scratching against parchment
Godville 2494 g.e.
I am Nyx. I had another name when I was a young girl but that is not important. Names are merely hollow shells without any content whatsoever and they are only important in this mortal world where everything needs to be identified, labelled and categorised.
I am five feet nine inches tall, a striking height for girls of my age during my time. I have long black hair, as dark as the moonless sky, that reaches mid-waist. I am blessed with a petite symmetrical face, full lips, and unusual gold eyes framed by thick lashes. Rivals claim that I use these eyes to capture the hearts of men. I do not disagree.
I thrive on blood, but do not mistake me for a vampire. Those translucent blood sucking beings merely feast on the life-giving wine to retard the reversion process into hideous wilted corpses. No, I am different. I can do many things with blood. Give me a bleeding sentient being and I can create creatures of beguiling darkness out of him. I have no need for weapons or tools either, as I can easily fashion them in any designs or functions that I desire from fresh blood. Unfortunately, mortals who witness this do not live to tell the tale.
A door creaks open, followed by sounds of muted heeled boots
Ah, my lovely charge. We are an odd pair to be seen together in this realm you call Godville, from our choice of garments to our personalities. The story of our meeting deserves another chapter. In this vast world, every encounter with another being is not a mere coincidence. We share some similarities- both imbued with powers for a purpose that belonged to someone else. Both of us are no strangers to loneliness, grief and loss. No mother, no brothers, no sisters, no playmates. A silent understanding of each others’ inaudible sentiments. Both journeying through time and space, undoing the wrongs of humanity.
Humanity. I walk amongst them, a stranger in their world of endless birth and death. Eternally still darkness beneath a beautiful shell, cutting silently through the bustling crowds. The desire to cover their lands in utter darkness, filling every rivers and oceans with their sins and bitter blood. Watch the infernal hellfire from this wounded heart burn their world with sulphuric rage. Their heavenly protectors crushed and defeated by my winged children, feathery wings torn and broken, their divine blood seeping into the thirsty earth. Let them experience how it feels when the world ends. Howbeit, I do not pay attention to the end of my world now. It has ended for me many times and begins again when morning comes.
Sounds of parchment rustling
Pursued and cornered by righteous clerics, I was casted into the depths of hell to be punished for my sins. There, the Devil came up to me and said that I would not be able to withstand the darkness that awaits. I smiled back and told him that I am the Darkness. He held out his hand and we danced. The people have forgotten that even the Devil was once an Angel. It dawned on me that…Why do we see wickedness? There was a stump of a tree, and in the dark, a thief came that way and said, “That is a policeman.” A young man waiting for his beloved saw it and thought it was his sweetheart. A child who had been told ghost stories took it for a ghost and began to shriek. But all the time it was the stump of a tree.
We see the world as we are. Do not talk of the wickedness of the world and all its sins. Weep that you are bound to see wickedness yet. Weep that you are bound to see sin everywhere, and if you want to help the world, do not condemn it. Do not weaken it more. For what is sin and what is misery, and what are all these, but the result of weakness? The world is made weaker and weaker every day by such teachings. Men are taught from childhood that they are weak and sinners.
The very basis of being is contradiction, that everywhere they have to move through this tremendous contradiction that wherever there is good, there must also be evil, and wherever there is evil, there must be some good, wherever there is life, death must follow as its shadow, and everyone who smiles will have to weep, and vice versa. Nor can this state of things be remedied.
One may verily imagine that there will be a place where there will be only good and no evil, where we shall only smile and never weep. This is impossible in the very nature of things; for the condition will remain the same. Whenever there is the power of producing a smile in us there lurks the power of producing tears. Whenever there is the power of producing happiness, there lurks somewhere the power of making us miserable.
How can we see the faults and failures of others unless we see it in ourselves? How can we understand what is evil unless we have evil within us? Thus preach me not, Righteous Cleric, for you are the epitome of contradiction, the very teaching you condemned me and my brethrens with.