Take my hand...
"Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people."
-Aliester Crowley
Death is a patient mistress. Mortals (and though they deny this, most immortals) all eventually come to her in the end. Kicking and screaming, penitent and passive, serene and at peace, they all come.
It is true that some escape her grasp. This he knows all too well, having been both perpetrator and accomplice in such trespasses. He also knows that these are the rare exceptions. Never mind the few that have stolen victory from the ashen hands of Death. Even they must surrender to her in some final requiem of creation that only Eternity can perceive.
They shadows about him coo and whisper in his ears. Their gentle touch and seductions are far more perilous than the fire that tried to burn him from existence. The heat of conflict kept him sharp. It kept him determined. That battle is over now…that is what the shadows tell him. It is time for rest. Time for sleep…and he is so very very tired.
-Aliester Crowley
Death is a patient mistress. Mortals (and though they deny this, most immortals) all eventually come to her in the end. Kicking and screaming, penitent and passive, serene and at peace, they all come.
It is true that some escape her grasp. This he knows all too well, having been both perpetrator and accomplice in such trespasses. He also knows that these are the rare exceptions. Never mind the few that have stolen victory from the ashen hands of Death. Even they must surrender to her in some final requiem of creation that only Eternity can perceive.
They shadows about him coo and whisper in his ears. Their gentle touch and seductions are far more perilous than the fire that tried to burn him from existence. The heat of conflict kept him sharp. It kept him determined. That battle is over now…that is what the shadows tell him. It is time for rest. Time for sleep…and he is so very very tired.