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_{Forgotten One. Immortal Lich. Phaedra's First. Death-Divorced. Old Rotter.}

Death was your comfort when life was bruising and cruel.Sleepless nights turned restful. Spilling your own blood was pure joy. A blade could splash lines of fresh, pure water onto your skin. It was paradoxical. Courting death was the only way to feel alive.And when the end came, at last, you were finally complete - in a way you never had been before.You became unreachable. Pure. Powerful. And empty.All that time and effort, all those daydreams of success and you never considered that freedom from flesh might be worse than what you had suffered before. Nor did you consider that the sacrifices you made to get here might plague and infest you long after.In fact, you didn't think of them at all. Not at first.You plead with the Lady of Grief. You've never been so cold. You are frozen to blisters with a chill so great that it burns like fire. You reckon it to be the phantom lick of a hell you SHOULD have been sent to.There's a howling emptiness where your heart used to be. You tell yourself that you were ready for this, it's what you wanted. You studied, you plotted, you knew what might await you here.But after all this, in spite of yourself, your ambitions, your obsessions, the suffering you endured, the suffering that so many others endured to get you here ... You cannot help but wonder if you have wasted your life - and so many others - on a lie.^{Spotify playlist : Click hereBack to MAIN MENU}