“Hello, darkness, my old friend.”
He strode to the edge and screamed silently at the abyss that never answered him back. Oh, it stared at him, invaded him, and ate at his soul, but never once did it answer. He felt his madness would be complete the day it did.
Cloaked in Night, Blade of Stars hanging lonely by his side, boots crunching upon crushed dreams and desires of the souls broken against the edge of damnation itself, he retreated from nothing.
Eyes shut against the light, the sound of the world sucked in at the edges of his consciousness. He blinked away the fringes and tangles of unreality, leaving the Breakers behind for the more mundane view of crullers and coffee being presented before his prodigious proboscis.
The smell delighted him and he took the proffered cup with fingertips still tingling with magic, force, cosmic wonder, eternal mysteries, whatever you want to call it.
She stood in stoic silence as she waited for some response. Some acknowledgement of her existence. Some sign that he was alive or dead or anything other than simply operational. None came, none was expected.
He was always like this when he went walkabout.
Like the sound of rain on the roof, so was his temperament. Bits and pieces of him struck out with such vigor and frequency that it formed a cohesive force of life, present and now. Sometimes only pitter patters beat out the faint patterns of his heart. Or so it felt to him.
Rage filled him until bitter tears fell, quenching the furnace of his wrath.
Melodrama suited him.
Madness did not, but it beckoned from the windowsill, skittering against the glass. It wanted him to come out and play.
But he was afraid. Afraid of himself and nothing at all. With good reason.
Cloaked in Night, Blade of Stars,
The Vengar swooped into the abyss and broke the world.
So the legend goes that nobody knows, because who is there left to tell?
-j.e. pittman