- Vol. 04
- Chapter 02
I stand like a lit wick on a crudely crafted candle and face off against the lord of hell as he is never imagined: an amorphous mass of parody and mockery.
Cast down not just from paradise, but from the ability to mimic anything God has made; he twists in agony to be cured only by learned humility.
The coruscation that is my spirit illuminates his hideousness and suggests malformed shapes.
They are but glamours, lacking even the dignity of the cloven.
Evil is forever seeking to justify itself in the language of angels.
Perceived insanity has an inherent logic in which the deluded are defined by their own madness.
The stars beam their exquisite grace and the ocean roars its mastery of form.