The Lost Ones
A/N: Welcome to the sequel of Secrets of the Blood, written because I am still completely insane no matter what people try to do against that. It will just never change. The events in this story are going to be a bit skewed starting in one place and then doing a follow up immediately after SOTB. Then they are going to jump back to somewhere in the past because I said so. Also because I said so, this will NOT be a crossover as I had thought it would be in Secrets if the Blood since that one chose not to be.
Disclaimer: I do not under any circumstances own Drizzt, Artemis Entreri, Jarlaxle, Kimmuriel or anyone else you recognize as not mine. Differentiations will be made. The poem here is my own original work.
Warning: This story is likely to contain the following: Violence, violent ideas, explicit content, religion bashing, blood letting and a bunch of other stuff that goes along the same lines. Anyway, if you don't like any of these things I politely advise you to not read this. If you choose to continue, it was your own freely made choice. Thank you, have a very good day and don't yell at me if I wrote something you didn't like.
Prologue: It started in the past...
I see faces in brilliantly lit shadows.
Reaching hands grasp out of the darkness and into
the flesh of those gone again.
A clawed hand traces my face in blasphemous touch.
The one without a face comes closer and
the others fall away.
A silent cry from someone else echoes within
a sealed bottle.
Was it you?
The one who left me here?
Every time I look at someone,
they never look the same.
They all look the same to me.
Faces without names.
And so they change all at once...
While I remain sitting in the past,
my face is made of glass.
How much time has past?
Not a single call; nothing at all.
There is nothing left of me.
Nothing but a faded memory.
And you too, have changed.
You are not the same.
And yet here I have remained.
Waiting to see your face again...
I don't mind the time,
but everything has its loss; your face is gone.
Burned away by a monster.
No not burned, painted away.
A face is not a face
if it is a mask.
The paint is a bloodstain,
ruining pure white.
Your face is different now.
Will you keep your name?
I see your face as if torn apart.
A lie from the start,
but I don't have the heart to tell you.
What is there to say anyway?
It can never be the same.
My face may be made of glass but you cannot see through me.
You cannot see through me,
your face is my mirror.
Only, I can see what is inside.
Lies. Lies. Lies...
