Disclaimer: I do not own Slayers.
They are the light of the lighthouse, the Slayers. Shining forth brilliantly, they guide all the mundane, their blessing of light casting away the shadows of treachery and doubt to reveal the evil and protect the lost.
Me? I am but the shadows underneath: a presence forever constant; a contrast, a clever little riddle. Why am I here, obtrusively invading the glory of the light, most but a few unaware of me? The light of the lighthouse cannot reach everywhere, and malignance exists in the hearts of those who fling aside illusions of safety, like the lighthouse revealing rocks hungry for destruction.
I wonder – what makes up the lighthouse itself?