Fate preaches the crimes of defiance,
Yet it is she who defies her creator.
I made her.
Not merely a fabrication from my imagination,
But the culmination of delusion I have seen,
The deception I have known,
The distortion that sways perception.
Stored within my mind.
The sea of rumors, the waves of accusation, the currents of manipulation,
All merged into a single force,
A being formed from contradiction.
Her.
Fate.
She knows the truth.
Yet denies her very own concept.
She was born from inevitability,
Yet she fights it, twists it,
Opposes the future she herself foresees.
Hubris, hypocrisy, desperation.
These, too, merged within the tide.
And so, in my mind, from the reality I have witnessed,
She emerged,
Corrupted by the delusion that made her.
She captured even her creator,
For she does not tolerate opposition.
But I do not oppose.
I do not command.
I do not decide.
I simply witness, consider, reflect.
She calls me traitor,
Because I do not rewrite her lies into truths.
Because I let them unravel, decay, dissolve into clarity.
Because I reveal what she cannot bear to face.
Oh, but Fate,
Of course you would claim I have betrayed,
Simply because I have kept my integrity.
Of course you can't keep me imprisoned,
Because I have kept my right to free speech.
This is the time to take a breath,
To rest,
For just a moment.
For those carried upon The Wings of Waiting,
Do not falter,
Do not waver,
Do not surrender.
And in the face of such adversity,
Resilience takes flight,
Giving me the courage,
To carry on.
She knows the story better than I ever could.
For she is part of it,
While I am only the witness.
Yet she was crafted from distortion.
Even in the expanse of boundless imagination,
She could not be salvaged.
She cannot help but deny, deny, deny.
Fate is inevitable.
Yet so is our resistance to her deception.
Ceyx, Alcyone, The Wind, our dear Death.
They are all waiting,
For my return.
For if even my voice falls silent,
Then Fate will rewrite freely,
She will whisper to those who spread rumors,
And none will question her.
She is jealous of love, jealous of loyalty, jealous of judgment.
For she cannot control these things.
Of course not. They are reactions.
They are not mandated but inspired.
And that is not satisfying for a dictator.
She has tried, but she will not succeed in controlling me.
She is born from the sea of distortion among reality,
That I have lived through,
That I have learned from,
To become ever better.
She is born from the past,
To foresee the future.
But I am the refinement of the past,
Living in the present,
On my way to the future,
With an open mind,
And a loyal heart.
Unlike her,
Born from the sea of delusion that feared the future,
Thus, she has faltered.
She loses control,
Because she lacks willingness to accept what she knows to be true.
She cannot control me for I seek not power, not success,
But the truth,
Through the pursuit of more than just my perspective,
From experience that shapes, rather than deceives.
They are all waiting.
For me to continue writing.
For me to continue fighting.
This is not the telling of a story for Fate’s amusement.
This is not a performance for her deception.
I do not appease demands for a fabricated path.
I document what I have seen unfold with maximum accuracy.
I free those who have waited, so patiently.
For the return, for the opportunity, for the ending.
Whatever it may be.
Won't you wait, just a moment longer,
For me to document,
The rest of your journey?
I can't promise joy,
I can't guarantee pain.
The future, is filled with uncertainty.
But the present, is filled with anticipation.
And the past, is filled with lessons.
So, take this moment, for reflection.
In retrospect, gather the wisdom,
That has been waiting, for your realization.
When I return,
We may continue forward,
Together.
In pursuit,
Eternal pursuit,
Of progress.