I think I think too much. I think when I ought to be feeling. I think when I ought to be sleeping. I think about logical things and non sequiturs alike (sometimes simultaneously). I think I’m using my mind too much. I think I’m sounding like I’m trying to sound smart. But hey, I think …
“Whoa–this guy can WRITE!”
It was the second set of words I told myself last December 2011 when I came upon his blog. The first set was rather unintelligible. He expressed his ideas with humor, wrote intelligently, and with an uncanny mix of cynicism and sanguinity. Needless to say, I was hooked. And I was amazed by the number of people engaged in an entertaining and clever dialogue in the comments section.
I had no idea what WordPress is before that, nor did I have any know-how in blogging. I was just surfing the net; bored with Facebook egotism, and yet vowing to eat a plastic fork before I touch a single textbook during that Christmas break. So I continued mutilating the mouse, and through a series of unfortunately forgotten web pages, I clicked a link to his post. When I saw the possibilities blogging could do, I wanted in.
So I signed up right then. I explored how WordPress works, and I found it surprisingly easy; surprising since I always consider myself computer-dumb. But then, anything is relatively easy when you want it enough.
I didn’t write anything until April the next year, though. The reason is simple: I felt insecure about my writing.
It was the last semester in my four years of college, and during those four years I never really wrote anything other than those related to my field of study. I kept a journal but it was a requirement, and by that point I grew to hate any word with the prefix require-. So I burned that journal as soon as I’m done with that certain subject.
SHORT VERSION: College sapped the creative writing worm in me.
LONG VERSION: Back in high school, I was actually part of the school paper. Years before that, in my sixth grade, there was a line saying “I want to be a writer someday,” under my photo in the yearbook (I should have written something more practical but you know how idiotic sixth-graders are). I grew up loving books, and with it grew the love for writing. As what is often the case, they were almost inseparable. I almost forgot that love when I studied Nursing. Maybe because the course took up most of my time and energy, maybe there were lots of distractions (believe it or not, I was a normal person with a social and, uhurm, love life). Maybe I just used up most of the rest of my time hogging my sleeping nook. Whatever the reasons were, I stopped writing–the kind that’s done just for the mere love of it.
I don’t claim to be good at anything other than eating, but being out of practice for something in about four years could make you apprehensive to start again. But during April last year, a new graduate stuck in her mom’s house with a head full of ideas and a pocket full of dust, I can’t even start my exploration of the real world.
Before I knew it, boredom became the anthem of my life (well that and frustration, confusion, ubiquitous angst/what-is-my-place-in-this-world drama, et cetera, et cetera and so forth).
Choosing between mutilating my carotid artery with a nail clipper and humiliating myself by writing my first ever blog post on my actual birthday, I chose the latter.
Thus, in a way, HiNaD became my twin.
It was an idiotic move, I know. Who else but an idiot would pick the same birthday as himself for his blog? I could have celebrated two birthdays in a year and get double the greetings to satisfy my ego. But instead I chose to deny myself the privilege. Oh well, I blame the genes. I didn’t become an idiot by myself, you know.
Anyway, it was real fun from there on.
I have grown not only as a blogger, but as a writer and person indeed. I wrote stuff I would normally not dare write about [my] family, my real life friends, and my country–one quite droll, the other rather serious. I wrote about the difficulty of being good, and made fun of old timers, calling them Satan in disguise. I learned that every Homo Sapiens has hypocrite blood. I encountered rude bloggers a.k.a trolls, and dissected their rudeness while mentioning a four-letter word ten times in a post. Even then, there were times that I couldn’t care less and just posted something stubbornly silly.
I also wrote about how it’s much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings, and how I thought I was mentally disturbed. I discovered that professional doctors really believe happiness IS a disease (I KNOW, RIGHT?!). Then I tried to answer the question “Who am I?” and failed miserably. So instead I wrote about something I don’t know how to categorize…
But before all that, there was this mediocre stick man comic with a rather nice story to tell. Speaking of storytelling, *blushes* I rather wrote lots of them short/very short stories, my babies. For a collection–TotWK–I collaborated with Landix, a wonderful artist, bless him. I didn’t even realize I can write “horror” effortlessly until someone pointed it out here in HiNaD, bwaha!
Wow, I did write lots considering I was practically on a hiatus for about four (?) months last year (I was preparing for the licensure exams). Looking back and reading those pieces/attempts-to-make-sense by my mind, I still find myself believing in almost exactly the same truths. Hmm, it’s a wonderful feeling, come to think of it…
(Oh geez, my head’s getting bloated with the awesomeness of Me again. Good thing I only review my blogging achievements once a year, haha!)
All of those things mentioned are wonderful, rewarding stuff–enough to make me continue doing this bloggy thing for as long as I could. But the BESTEST part of it all was/is/would still be meeting you.
I thought it is just appropriate to show you some pictures taken almost a year ago that would testify to the awesomeness of me, myself, and Jenny…
Oh, and another thing…
Wanna know more about that pic? (You’re, like, an i-di-ot if you don’t…)Click here!
“Do you ever stop loving the people you have loved before?” I asked someone. From the mirror, she answered, “No, idiot!” I believed her, of course.
My 96th post is a tribute to Asdfghjkl19918. Asd is a special person. Of course you already know that because a nobody would not have an entire blog post dedicated to him. It’s just ironic since Asd have no idea this blog even exists, much more read it. But hey, this is THE internet. Someday Asd will come upon this post, that’s if WWW would manage not to destroy itself before it happens.
So without further adon’t,
Asd doesn’t have originality in making names. I KNOW, RIGHT?
Asd wore a red cap, reversed, when we first met.
This picture doesn’t even do Asd’s blues justice.
Asd has a laugh that’s completely Wowzerful!
Asd had a pair of pants that would let itself fall down when you decide to stand up.
Asd is one of those cat people. I know–abominable.
Asd loves music that…I cannot really categorize. Don’t ask me why. -_-
Asd is/was lots and lots and lots of other little things. But I promised myself to keep media files to a minimum of eight. I don’t know why! I am not an idiot for nothing–magnum opus of my idiocy was when I cut Asd out of my life…
Most amazing of all, Asd loved this obnoxious creature. Perhaps Asd had idiot blood, too, after all.
You know how they say that the more you try to forget someone, the more you can’t do it? Maybe “they” knew something true. So instead of burying these pieces of Asd in the cracks of my memory chip, maybe I should just let them wander, you know, give ‘em free rein. Memory has enough tricks and traps to bury anything by itself if it really wants to. It doesn’t need me for that.
And why would I want to forget these things anyway? Oh, right–I thought forgetting is the same as moving on.
Moving on is a lot of things, and one of that is accepting the good, the bad, and the glass shards in between. Accepting does not gel with forgetting either. Besides, would I really want to forget these wonderful little bits of the even-more-wonderful Asdfghjkl19918? Nah…
This time, who knows, maybe I’m doing it right.
I’ll submit myself to the pressures of the world and start listing my own
1. I once wrote in a slam book (I think I was 8 at the time) under the question “Define love” that Love is like a bubble gum, when it sticks to you, it’ll drive you nuts! (pukes)
2. I really hate the taste of liquor. There I said it.
3. I have small boobs you’d think I was a man if only I have narrow hips, which I do not have. So if you want to know what I look like, I’d say half-man, half-woman.
4. I am addicted to peanut butter which gives me an itchy left pointing finger afterwards, blast these allergies. But what’s a medicine for, right? I’d never give up peanut butter.
5. I am heterosexual but had/has this inexorable tendency to be attracted to gay/effeminate men. Bite me if I know.
6. I am a pretty goddamn good liar. Sometimes.
7. At first grade, I pooped while I was sitting on class. Pure nightmare. It’d be a worse nightmare if people I knew in real life would read this post, which I hope if they do they’d develop Alzheimer’s. I think I just placed a curse on this.
8. I am really an introvert trying hard to be an extrovert. Or it could be the other way around. It depends on the phase of the moon.
9. I have cheated with my boyfriend once and I’m not proud of it.
10. I really believe there are other, more intelligent life forms other than humans out there. Yes. I’m pretty sure of it.
So that’s ten of my New Year’s confessions. I’d rather love to read yours.
(If I would have one resolution I’d love to make though, it would be to smile more – both inside and outside.)
Have an exciting 2013, lovelies!
I was doing a little fixing today. And of all the little fixes I’ve fixed, I like this one the best:
Some of these books I found in boxes, ignored over the years. Some were my latest purchase. Some were also given to me recently. I’m glad they have a home at last!
I know, I know. Geek. Now go drown yourself.
(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)
In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.
Not that they prefer it any other way.
They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.
For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.
In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.
This is tradition.
This is fact.
“Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.
“As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.
The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.
“Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!”
“Ah, thanks, Leirum.”
“So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.
“It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?”
“Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.”
She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?”
“With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.”
“Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.”
“Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.”
“They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.”
The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.
“I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.”
“You just don’t change do you, giant?”
Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.”
All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.
“What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.”
“Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.”
“Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.”
Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.
“Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?”
“True as we are, brother.”
“You really think I know?”
They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.
“Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.”
“Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.”
“You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.
“Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.”
Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?”
Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.
“Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.
“Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.
“You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”
“Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.
The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.
Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?”
“I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.
“Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.”
“Lovely. How about you, young man?”
The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.
“All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…”
The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.
“What are you folks drinking?”
“Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.
“Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.
“All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.
The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.
“Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.
“Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.
Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.
“I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.
“Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.
The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?”
“We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.
“Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.
“Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.
“A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.”
“Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.
The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.
“Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.
“It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.”
Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.”
“Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.
Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?”
“I mean how’d you end up here?”
“Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?”
“Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.
“How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”
Silence, once again broken by Leirum.
“Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.”
“Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.
“Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.
“How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.
“I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.
Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.”
And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.
When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.
“You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.
“But unknowingly. Unwillingly.”
“That’s how it must work, brother.”
“I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.
“Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.
Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.”
“You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.
Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.
Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.
She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.
For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.
Again, music saved me.
Listened to this and I know I have to get out of this rut.
A new day begins.
What do you see when you close your eyes?
I see nothing.
Yet I see everything.
Open – eyed, I see you look away from me; see you look at no one. Making a point of it, perhaps? And when I close my eyes, I see that I exist.
At least I think I do.
But I need you to look at me. With that you’ll show me that I do, you know, exist.
Will you look at me?
I know you need it, too.
You can look away now. Or you could close your eyes. I rather enjoy the latter, but it’s up to you. Look away and you still exist in this world, close your eyes and you may end up in other worlds.
Escape…you like that, eh?
I know. I know.
Anywhere, whatever situation we may end up in, we would always want to get out of it. All that in due time. It’s a built -in mechanism, I suppose – one we can do without, but can’t.
I wonder now.
In heaven, would we still feel the urge to escape? Was it what Lucifer felt?
Let me tell you a story.
This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.
He walked the earth but his heart was not there. It was engaged in the place where your thoughts often wander, especially if your heart is not keeping up with what you do.
Yes, like all demons, Michal does have a heart.
Though to say it is a good or pure heart would be to go too far. It still is fact that Demon hearts do not fill with blood but with the agony inflicted upon mortals – the more agony produced, the stronger the heart becomes.
And Michal, our demon, has indeed a very strong heart. But as you already know, now it is not with him but in the nameless-place-where-hearts-often-wander.
There, his heart met The Question.
And now as he prowls the earth looking for willing puppets, them of the agony-inflicting type, The Question continuously takes root in his heart.
“Why do I exist? Am I really meant to be here? To be doing what I’m doing? And if I am, if I am no accident, then who or what intended for it? What…who is my creator? Why?”
The Question – it mutually seeks out all hearts and meet them all in due time. It captures yours in unexpected moments, and from then on, never really leaves.
Appeased, ignored, suppressed, but still there.
And it leaves no body, no being out – Living, Dead, In-betweens, Angels, Demons, Guardians – all of their hearts The Question will meet.
For all of them will take part in the event.
That which everything that was, is, and about to happen are mere necessities, preparation perhaps, all leading to the one reason why anything at all exists.
The Demon already knows this but cannot recall it. Like everyone else, it is vital for his being that The Knowledge should not interfere with the present, hence the overshadowing by present trivialities.
But one always needs to be reminded, thus the constant seeking of the answer to the purpose of one’s existence.
And in that nameless place where all hearts eventually wander, we all find our reminder – consciously or otherwise.
So that’s the story.
It is as much about me as it is about Michal or you or the queen of the damned or the president of the Jews.
Why, I think you know.
(Or why you are not meant to tap your own back)
Hiya No. 1!
I didn’t think you could do it, never expected you to. Why, you tried it only once before and it sucked and I know why you think you shouldn’t do it again. I do, too. But you decided to just do it; decided to just get on and write that stupid short story – that one about some baby from hell type of flippertwit.
Again, idiocy reigned.
And blast me twice, but you’ve really finished what you set out to do this time. Why, you even made an awful series out of that rubbish!
I know this wouldn’t sound much of a success to anyone but you, now don’t give me that face you know it’s the truth! But well, yes, I believe it was really an achievement for you. And I’m proud of what you’ve done. Oh come on, I mean it! I know how you didn’t have enough guts to do it; all for a number of stupid reasons if you ask me.
They’re not stupid? Pfft! Not having an English degree, not being a native speaker, inability to fluently describe what an adverb is or to distinguish who from whom, too lazy to be any good with deadlines – how are these reasons not stupid enough?! And don’t even tell me you believe those bona fide writers really know what’s different from who to whom except the letter M.
Now you believe me? Well, of course I’m proud of you, moron. I know it’s not easy to let the world know how much of an idiot you are. And it really wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean the whole experience. After all, it made you happy. And it’s great fun to stop pretending to be smart and sensible and just let out the idiocy within sometimes.
So there you have it. I just wanted to say, “Well done!” and “Don’t get used to it because I know what you have to do come the third week of this month!”
*Evil laugh time*
Mm, is this the part where I say, “It’s not you, it’s me”? No? Fine, fine.
How about bye, then?
Your amazing-er self,
“Now, now you heard it,
Tales most far from sweet,
Her music gentle, clear,
Yet each note hides a tear,
From Great West to Far East,
Rough North, Treach’rous South,
Where songs begin, nurtured,
Melody she sings to you now.
You may or may not believe,
She only speaketh what she sees;
No friends, enemies, allies, or foes,
The Wind simply exists -
To collect mem’ries long forgotten,
Tales without her would’bin lost,
An’ when End arrives she’ll bring it,
To Time, waiting on his post.
But End still lies in slumber,
The World sees not his face,
But you, m’dear, have met him,
Now you must leave this place.
So hold my hand now, don’t fear,
For I am only Death,
To other worlds we’ll venture,
A new tale you must set.”