I have witnessed the coming and going of many seasons, I have even witnessed some stagger and stumble onward for ages – without shifting, without giving way. But what you know as October has finally settled in, a place in time you may know as the beginning of comfort, the beginning of joy – but the place in time that I have come to know as where hollows began. In October, I can see the origins of it all, I can feel the void, a true void, and it’s everlasting pull reaching out to me within the crevices of the cold night air. In October, I can see the glimmers and shimmers of all I once was, and all I was meant to be. In October, I can come face to face with who I am now, and who I will never become.

When all is lost, and all is done, I will surely return to the place that I belong. Not the ground that lies beneath my feet, but the spiraling darkness that many fear at the edge of night, but are met with, constantly – upon every time they close their eyes. We shun the shadows as if they were never meant to be a part of us, but throughout all this time – we’ve been longing for darkness all along. In ages past, I had fallen into the hands of death, as it grasped my very fate within it’s palms. It knew at the time of my pure and innocent soul, but as well of what it was to become, what it was always destined to be. This true destination, this true identity, this final mission of mine that is now calling out to me so much more intensely than ever before marks me certain that I shall in soon time know what is shall be.

Much like before the departure before the time of the exile, and similar during the events that followed – the skies have begun to morph once again. Light as I once knew it in October, has long since gone. For ever since the darkness has grown uncontrollably, the false light has been faded, absorbed, and what remains either cowers behind these thickened and morphed skies – or lies within the essence of the final flame itself. But that is none of my concern. For when we meet again, it will be during a collective effort, a joint decision to carry out a fate to a force so bright, a force to burning, and to take it as our own. A force that has lit the skies and defined us for eras, but must now meet it’s end. A force that we are no longer part of.