1. you have been rent and remade, shaped into something entirely different. you do not have a word for this thing you have become; for a long while, you do not have words at all. it seems there is nothing in you but a desolate, formless anguish that roils beneath the surface of your skin, burning through you and leaving only grieving howls behind. your form serves only to give voice to the sorrow that dwells in you, an anchor that tries hollowly to remind you of who you are. were it not for the wraithling flame that shadows your every move, it is possible you might not ever recover yourself- possible, too, that neither would he. the dance that weaves between you is fraught with desperate attempts to reclaim what you both have lost.
2. you have become a monster; the darkness which festers inside you has clawed its way to the surface, replaced unspeakable pain & loss with fathomless rage. it knows no direction, knows nothing but destruction, and you have become very good at destruction. you are not mindless, though, in all your wanton viciousness. you are yet cunning, with a mind as bright and sharp as steel and it makes you ten times deadlier than you seem. while your ears sharpen and your eyes turn gold, you become the right hand of a man you loathe, pushing his slothful second out of your way. his trust comes more easily than you had assumed, but serves only to drive an unassailable wall between you and your green-eyed confidant.
3. you are caught. the bright flame you once held close to your chest has slipped out of your grasp, flickering away to new friends, new bonds of trust. the terrible necessity of atonement lays heavy on your shoulders, but now you bear it alone. you do not know if you can. under the silent, unforgiving moon, you lament once more all that you have lost. it takes you far too long to realize you have been made a prisoner in your own body, as fell magic roils through you, changing you further into a monstrous vessel to house another man's soul. you watch in horror from behind your own eyes as the organization falls around you and your captor like flies, a pyrrhic sacrifice to his ambition of immortality. your flame is gone, and you sense that soon, you may be too. in the eyes of the keybearer who draws ever nearer, you see a reflection of hatred you cannot hope to survive. under the pale, pitiless gold of the moon, you are broken one last time.