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Born from mother and father,
Pure as they may be,
gave life to the one known as Death.

The Blossoms of love never touched the gates of his mind.
The Purity of the Soul never came to him.
The Heart beat, but not the one that governs the thoughts.

The child born from Saints was the Darkness known as Death.
Born with hair whiter than Satin Snow fields.
Born with eyes a darker blue than the deepest ocean.
Born with the curse of the Gods.
A black mark over the mortal heart.

It was as if the very Gods of life had thrown them a curse.
It was as if the very Gods of life had thrown them a burden.

Fallen from the sky on that night of no stars and many moons who hid their face, was a white mantel that flowed through the wind.

Fallen from the sky was the mantel made from the threads of time, adorned with the glass blown from the fires of Holy flames and the Sands of Time.

Fallen from the sky was a letter, written on the purest paper with golden ink.

Time to sleep child.

Tomorrow you reap the souls of the innocent and guilty alike.