We were elves. Once, long ago, we were the blessed children of Iluvator; and now we are nothing; below nothing, we are the lowest servants of the darkness. We hunt with a single mindedness that frightens even the stout of heart; to feed, to kill, to destroy, to main and to burn everything we once held dear.
We would destroy nature, the forest and its animals, with no mind to the voices we once heard echoing from both. We care not, for the flickers of the past; of us living in harmony with those around us, listening and singing to natures' song. We care not. We lost that long ago. And as we stand watching the fires burn through that which we once held close to our hearts, we care not for the dying screams of the animals and of the trees. We care not for the anguish of the beings we once were, watching as their lives die around them. We care not, that was stripped from us long ago; and now, we are dead.
We would destroy homes, leaving corpses mutilated beyond recognition. Those that lived only held on by threads, and the memories left would leave our victims continually remembering the torture we inflicted on their loved ones. We once heard their cries and maybe cried ourselves long ago, but now we are dead to the weeping; just as we are dead to the world.
Our bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, burned and beaten, scalded and whipped, until our fair skin darkened and our lights did not shine. Our minds were broken, cast into doubt and then slowly turned against us by taunts and pain. We lived in darkness, not allowed to see the stars, nature or those with us. They found us and cast us into the deepest pits they could find, and left us to rot.
And as our hope died, under mental torture and horrendous pain; as the very light that burned in our soul perished in the darkness, we became just like them. Our lights dulled and gone, our pride broken, our freedom taken, our souls fled and will not return. And now we are the ones that will inflict torture. We are the ones that will change the blessed children into monsters. And they will join us, and kill with us. They will be dead, as we are.
In their eyes, we see the light of resistance and hope. We see their fair skin and elven lights. We listen to their whispered words, in their own tongue. We have not forgotten that we were once among their numbers; we laughed and sang, and hoped. We hate them, and yet we were them. Every reminder of what we lost to the darkness fuels our anger, our rage, our sorrow at the past that we will never be able to reclaim. We hate them, because they are us. We hate them, for reminding us that we will never be them again, for that was stripped of us long ago in some deep prison where the light of nature would not reach.
We were forgotten, and were changed beyond recognition. Our souls twisted by the searing memories and of the pain we endured at the hands of our own torturers, and how the darkness never seemed to end. And now we live to serve that very darkness that stripped our past. We cannot help but serve, fuelled by the fury that left us broken far in the past. We fought against the whispering evil that filled the void around us, and finally seeped into our souls. We fought against the words meant to break our spirits, and slowly our light fled. We fought against the pain of the whips hitting our bare skin. We fought, for so long, but it was not enough and we fell. And now all we know is hate and hunger.
We serve the one we used to hate, and hate him for stealing our lives from us. We hunger for the freedoms we used to have, the ones lost to us. But we kill those we once were, and we hunger for the scent of blood and the taste of their flesh.
We were once the blessed children, of the Valar, of Iluvator. And now we are nothing, we are the enemy. Our lights have been forgotten, lost and not redeemed. Our cries were not heeded, and the torture not hindered. He does not cry for our pain, He has forgotten we were once his children. He has forgotten us. The Valar did not save us, and would not forgive our transgressions. Our family would not remember us, or if they did, would not admit us.
The circle never ends. The cycle never breaks. The darkness will never die, there is no hope and everything will depart this cursed life. Those that have freedom will perish or be turned to the darkness that haunts our minds; we still feel his presence. There is nothing left, but to kill. And so we kill.