Is it not strange? These paths we take. This darkness we make. We burned like the Phoenix, fell, crashed to the ground. Nothing could save us. Yet from the ashes of our bitter demise, We rose wreathed in flames, and took to the skies. The darkness we created, in our last dying breath. sought to destroy us, with what we had left. The legacy that lifted us, dragged us back down. To fly like the eagle, we first had to drown. The fires still burned, we had no regrets. For with our last flame we burned down the past. Perhaps a mistake, it was that we made. But the choice had been ours, and we flew towards the Stars Perhaps it would be better, to die in your Age, than watch as the New, is built on its grave.
The last survivor of a dead age reflects on the apocalypse and what caused it, Wondering if she really has a place in the new era.
