The War Ended And Humanity Essay
It is going red, they whisper, voices harsh from the blade embedded in their throat.
The sun will be turned to darkness and the moon will become blood. You don’t know how beautiful it is, Iophiel, the blue will return in the dusk and the sunset again in the dawn.
You said nothing, the fallen ones had chosen madness and although you wept for all your lost kin, their ramblings meant nothing. The sky looked the same as everything else, light and dark and beautiful as it was your place to see.
The eyes melted as their sulphur burnt out and there was nothing left but ashes and salted earth.
Sweet Raffaello brought it up many years after the war ended and humanity was flourishing. Your ambitious devotee sought confirmation, not on truth or justice but artistic choice.
Is this better than Lieferinxe? The wings should be darker, perhaps? Is this shade of blue right for Michael?
What is blue?
His fair face (painfully mortal, unlike your fake skin) furrowed in thought.
Blue is the inconsistent colours of the ocean and the robes of della Madonne. It is the precious lazulum lapis and the flowers in Germania nearly forgotten by the Lord and remembered through its pale hue. Blue is Pompeii skies and above them the cerulean heavens where David’s restored throne rests in a majesty of sapphire stone. It’s the…