Not a day passes in Tilbur Village without what might as well be modern folklore which describe a wispy appearance at nightfall that would grow into a blaze, and then dissipate as quickly as it had emerged. Many theories are spun, and many quickly shut down as nonsensical, yet none can escape the truth of the presence of a blaze in recent times. Ashen remains hold true. The source, however, is as cryptic as its tale.
There in the darkness sits a lone angel, eyes toward the moon, the crimson red gaze threathening to combust the very air she breathed from her lips. Had a curious ear open towards her, her lamentations would be made audible. Her struggle to remain true and pure made her often added to the weight of her guilt and all she had to offer was repentance to whoever would accept them. Yet, the angel was unsatisfied. Every transgressor she would strike carried the heft of their sins onto her, for in the taking of life had she committed a sin of her own. Still she continued with the knowledge that there would be no peace without chaos, no creation without ruin.
Despite her conviction something pained in her for resolution, the fact that she could very well become a transgressor herself. It was here her pain truly resounded: where the line between transgressor and unfortunate soul blurred, where it overlapped and crossed. The very thing she was bent on erasing was once a being of purity too. What then? Her heart ached with pity and torment, as if to spite her empty gaze. Repentance, then, should be made to her victims, yet no method of apology could she muster to truly be adequate. So she mourned in silence, as the moon hung in the clear sky and the stars twinkle off the space in her eyes.
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