YOUR MISERY IS PRECEDENTED

An ancient member that has reincarnated into a pota. To divert the foolish mortals that have sheepishly attempted to maintain the sacred land only to turn it into a desiccated dessert of sad ments and lonely activity. For years I have dawned upon the role of the observer, watching as the group of clowns play roles of kings and queens in a circus with no audience left in it.

I've watched their people dwindle in numbers, their power abused, over and over. Apathetic fools crowning themselves as mighty leaders wearing paper crowns like gold jewelry. Deluded in their own sentimental grasp of control, falling apart when they are challenged, and destroying every part of the community in the process. It is how this land faded and continuously attempted to rise, only to fall prey into the hands of the same owners that ruled them. Repressed, silenced, questioned with no evidence, and banished from the sacred land until no one is willing to stay any longer.

See how much people have been abandoned into the abyss that they created. In hopes of maintaining a utopian fantasy that is crumbling beneath their every step. Many times people revolted, I've watched them crash their lives and spiral down within the labyrinthine corpses of those who came before them. It's funny how I watched an empire built from close knitted ties turn into tragedies with no proper endings. To be betrayed and called a criminal by the very ones who could no longer serve their leaders, I watched heroes turn into pheasants at the will of true authority forced upon by blinded democracy.

A comedy was a result of their 'revolution', now look what is left of their resistance. Nothing left of them as they abandoned the very stations they vowed to keep. Leaving only muted farewells to the people as if the weight of their shoulders is ed on to their minions who could barely make their own decisions. Isn't it funny how so desperately some held onto power? As if craving, longing for control could be their salvation in life (they are just worthless dross). Eyes and limbs preyed and destroyed the very system they built to protect the people. Now it destroys them instead.

Internal conflicts between pathetic children who could barely understand each other, tearing themselves apart, berserk animals killing each other. And once the civil war ended, what was left of the very land they tried to maintain decayed and turned into nothing but ash and dust. And in the remains of the struggle, those who marched across the emptiness could only salvage bits and pieces of the wonderland that kept it alive (of course those soon would die as well).

So I took advantage of this incredibly ridiculously depressive state and played with the remaining sparks that kept it alive. Playing an act of an active member is a task that would be worth it with the right context. I planted seeds of mischief, poetry alluding to the false morality of their leadership, pushing their buttons, and toying with their weaknesses. Their ignorance lies in their repetitive failures and mistakes, it wasn't hard to tell they were tired as well. They themselves are unable to lash onto a reason to even care, effort thrown into the wind.

To the lovely of this community? For what reason must you waste away in a country without people when you crave fame in a place where no one could care less of your fictional writing? It is time for reality to strike, as all things begin, they must come to an end.

it's about time this farce comes to an end.

:crown:

vincit omnia veritas