The skies are dark and the morning gloomy. The air hums with energy, and I foresee destruction and chaos. Having wrested my own destiny from the hands of the Fates, I am now running without pause. The breath of the devil is scorching upon my back, and gives me reason to flee from what I singlehandedly created. It is a bitter truth, that great power usually turns on its possessor. My time here is limited, and even as I type, my eyes are drawn to the clock that hangs before me. A soft whisper caresses the back of my mind, a warning, but my attention is fixed on the approaching storm. The winds are rising, and the scent of danger increases. In my driftings, I have seen the world in its entirety. Vast, limitless, as are the possibilities that are laid out before me. The threads of anger that have snaked through my mortal form fades as the stormwinds embrace me, and for a moment, a long breathless one, I have transcended this world into the next. Still the veil is impassable, and I am drawn back to my path and my everchanging destiny. I can hear the three Fates cackling gleefully as they hound me relentlessly. The threads run wild in the loom of my life, and I curse the supernatural weavers as I continue my flight from the claws of my demons. The storm will destroy the castle in which I currently reside, and the walls of sunshine-yellow will darken to shades of black before being completely obliterated. It does not matter. It is my heart's calling that I follow, even as my mind screams its own warning of danger, as I traverse the winding paths that were carved out of bone and blood. I fear nothing, because as the weather cools the world, the storm that seeks me has numbed my emotions and I no longer feel. Yet I continue running, because my gift is a curse and my burden is mine alone.
Fugitive from the underworld.
