Night blanketed the sky. I was there, alone in its dark presence, standing atop a hill while my black cloak blew in the quick and cooling breeze. My black hair caught the air as well, strands dancing.
It was quiet.
I've walked through the halls of The Black Citadel, illuminated by soft candlelight. I've strolled through the green meadows of Eltheythar, our Host City. I've passed through the empty corridors of the Black Rose Coven, Mother's personal syndicate. I have even traversed the treacherous Void.
But the silence there never uttered such sin and cruelty that the legions of Maun T'Har now whispered in my ear. Was this truly what Mother expected? The Animadverto are better than this. We represent power, authority, law, darkness. The blood within our veins guides us.
But we also believe in sanctity. And as I claim the throne of Yurth himself, I ask myself...
Do I corrupt my bloodline, corrupt myself, for this power?
-Ætheos Animadverto :: Thoughts of the Dead
_________________ "No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees."
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