.
T h e D e s o l a t e L a b y r i n t h
“My lady of the Stars, we cannot be together.”
The Poet, who was so tiny in comparison to Emyra, the Demon Lord, looked upon her with remarkable fearlessness; even with a hint of desire and endearment. But he did not seem to act as a deceiver, it was as if something really was keeping him from accepting her embrace and being a part of her from then onwards, to the end of time.
As Emyra approached, the Poet was no longer where he once stood. Some force had pulled him from her, and a simple turn had relocated him to some other random point within the inexplicable conundrum of a world. But this was by no choice of the Poet’s, and from then she would have been able to hear his own distressed cries across the bleakness of the Labyrinth, calling her name over and over.
“Emyra, my love. Take me into your embrace forever,” his voice would echo through the halls, almost acting like a beacon for her to follow, so that she may find him again and make another attempt at bringing them together for eternity. His calls would then resonate through the emptiness, each more hopeful, yet desperate than the last.
He would return to his endless shuffling through the Labyrinth following the encounter with his beloved, this time the sound of sobbing following his every move. The Poet wept for his missed opportunity, feeling that he never again would have his chance to love and be loved in this realm of sadness and loss. His robes would drag on the floor, and his posture would slouch, the spring in his gait replaced by a sorrowful step.
The souls within the Labyrinth, always searching for an escape, no longer looked upon the Poet with admiration. They turned their gazes from him, focusing once more upon a siren song emanating from afar, drawing them close. But he did not seem to hear it, he could not find his way back to her — he would have to bring her to him.
Pages from the Poet’s folio fluttered to the dirt behind him every so often, each one with a different poem scrawled upon the parchment in a faded ink. Each a message to Emyra, hoping that she would follow the paper trail to him once more. He could not leave her like he had, and must have found a way to explain the predicament to her. He had placed one poem upon the ground carefully for his love, so that she might find it and understand.
Emyra, my beautiful treasure,
I am compelled to be apart
from your beauty as gentle as a feather,
so to you this message, I must impart.
Something keeps us at a distance
Something within the intermediate Plane
At the centre is a source of this resistance
And the cause of our shared, immeasurable pain.
The alignment has begun.
Seek the man who made you what you are. See what he has become.
