I stand here, as I have for eons, bound by the chains of my own transgressions. The cosmic fabric of this desolate temple seems to whisper tales of my fall, echoing through the silence of Terra Mortua. Oh, the irony of it all – a seraph, once a guardian of souls, now a penitent wraith, forever shackled to this forsaken world. The memories still linger, like embers of a long-dead fire: the witch’s cunning smile, her soul dancing just out of reach on the Soul River, and my own fatal weakness that led to her resurrection as the Gore Queen. How the mighty have fallen, indeed.
The witch’s legacy haunts me still. Her lich body, a macabre monument to my failure, sits upon that throne, a constant reminder of the lives I’ve destroyed. And the undead that shamble through this dead world – their souls, trapped in an eternal limbo, are a testament to my hubris. I can almost hear their whispers, a mournful chorus that echoes through the void. They wander, aimless and lost, because I chose desire over duty. The weight of their suffering is a burden I must bear for all eternity.
Yet, even in this darkness, I find a strange solace. My penance is my redemption, a silent atonement for the sins of a bygone age. As I watch the stars birth and die, I am reminded of the fragile beauty of existence, and the consequences of tampering with the divine order. The Divinity’s gaze may have turned away from me, but I remain steadfast in my vigil, hoping that perhaps, in some distant future, my sacrifice might bring a measure of peace to those I have wronged. Such is the fate of a fallen seraph – forever bound, yet ever hopeful.
>Soulkyn