In the very same place where Emperor Xannathaithen washed his hair
and his eyes watered
then tears and many fears had followed us there
until only one of us had survived
leaving us nowhere else to go
Pyrodeflagrescence occurring without care
crashing down on the marble flooring like glass shards to sclera's
dreaming of the day when his heart would long be set free,
for millions upon millions of years,
deciding who lived and died was such a heavy task
(remember everyone's immortal, so dying well...
it meant their soul had been drained of all energy)
this world has existed for millennia, and this universe?
even longer, probably; no one, no ungodly amount of time should have had to be spent managing it;
this dimension must have been here since the start of time itself,
when hearts fell apart,
glass fractured into thousands of tiny pieces
souls only just beginning to traverse the grandiose realms of life and love,
beginning to fall when lovers lived,
and ancestors died long before anyone could live to see it become what it had originally been born to do in the first place.
this world had begun in a year and millennia and centuries where humanity was not yet advanced at all,
glass had been invented and now destroyed by the deafening explosions,
only the rays of the sun had warmed their bodies
therefore, warmth stayed on the inside of their eyes
this dimension had been advancing for millions and millions of years,
yet this world began when no one else dared to believe in it.
But this concept of time is so vast and horrifyingly beautiful, like staring a shattered mirror in the eye
with your hands shaking and your muscles trembling with exaggerated force
. You know it's irrational, yet you can't stop it: when the world goes to die,
and you're the only one standing;
the day when the villain is the only one alive,
and everyone's immortal lives finally come to an end,
when you come to the realisation that you caused this,
how do you bear it?
What happens when the universe doesn't give you any information to go off of?
You start to assume what the hierarchy is,
ignoring the villains of the world who are always the only ones to survive
Like, you stood a chance at surviving their wrath;
like you could survive being around them,
and you could survive being in their world.
The agency was well and truly deceased, and the hierarchy was only really rebuilding after Aliciandra's near-death experience late last century.
Now Emperor Xannathaithen stood alone, standing in the throne room of what used to be his palace, now in ruins.
This asteroid had destroyed so much (even his hairdresser), so it was good that he usually cut it himself anyway,
(The hairdresser had to have medics on standby since cutting his hair meant touching it, and his hair was toxic to all those of lower ranks than him; his hair didn't burn her too badly unless he was really pissed at someone else, and its a freak accident)
But still, he had lost the only one who understood him...
How could he continue in this world knowing what had happened?
Could he ever fix this? Was there a way back from this,
or was this the end?
This world had been complex for oh so very long.
The day he's longing for... never came.
So what is he to do?