Part 2, On with the story. Contains a cameo. I'm not personally pleased with how the next few segments came out, a bit bold, and proud, but they're needed for the story, so bear with me. It gets better, considerably.

He sits in a dark place... lit barely, a place with an up and down indicated only by his position. No ceiling, no floor, no walls... only the lines. Thousand upon thousand of lines, spaced in three dimensions, in front behind each other, angling touching, effecting. Here and there new lines start, here and there, other lines end. Some converge, bounce off, or stay together. Some that were close part ways, some that were bright, blink out as another line crosses. He sits in this place, a place of no space but time he sits in this place and softly weeps.

Where he sits, to him, there is no line, though by all rights there should be, must be. There, and there, and there, behind him, lines twist and turn with no apparent reason. In his wake the lines change, sometimes like a ripple, sometimes like a hurricane, and each one glows with an aura of brighter blue, no matter it's original color.

Where he sits, next to him, and a little before him three lines meet, one red, ancient, stretching back as far as can be seen, two blue, each sparkling with golden motes, but one of those, half red, twirled betwixt another old line of dark vicious colors. His hand sets upon the clear red line, running its length softly, reticently, caressing it like the shoulder of an old, pained friend. Before him, mere seconds down the path, the lines meet, crashing cataclysmically. Two end in the flash, only the blue, drained and weaker for it, continues it's path.

With a furrowed brow, he concentrates. The land shifts, the lines change. Time and again minute details or major factors change behind him, time and again the lines crash, time and again, the way it plays out changes, yet the ending, one line moving forward, a different one each time, but pained, faded, cracked and crumbling, remains the same.

He cries softly, helplessly. His tears pool over his eyes in a place with no up or down to fall to. With a flick of his hand he sends them away thoughtlessly, hitting other lines, sending them spinning to new places. He watches wistfully, sadly, feeling the person behind each... caring for one and all. As a wisp of smoke a line, it's jet blackness nigh invisible without the glowing green cracks within it twirls up from behind him, changing for a moment, passing the other lines, leaving them ever so slightly different. He looks at the lines and sees something he hasn't before. His senses extended he isn't in the least bit surprised when he hears the words.

Who else would be here? Who else would come around him when he's like this? The darkness behind him congeals, not as well formed in time as he, but a black silhouette of a familiar outline anyway.

"And look at you now, moping and all" voiced the shade in a feminine drawl, sitting behind him to his left, running a finger over the converging lines, "You really care for these, and who's this? A her? Should I be jealous?"

He laughed slightly, still looking down. A little faux Celt accent, once she hadn't had in, what was it now? fifteen hundred years? And a little bit of faux jealousy added on to stir the pot, had gotten him to smile in seconds when he felt like he hadn't in centuries. He looks back at her, his sad eyes still managing a sarcastic knowing sparkle. It should be impossible, considering who she was, even back then it should have been, and yet here she was, she still cared for him. He supposed it just another one of the ridiculous paradoxes that defined his existence.

"Oh no, of course not." the female presence says, sighing slightly as her black wings droop a bit, "A moment here, a love there, all we can really have are trysts isn't it? Love them and watch them leave, or hold on and be the death of them... The ability to make a difference in everyone else's life but our own."

"It's the price we pay Morg." he says softly, "Fleeting glimpses of life, touches of love, happiness for a second only in the grappling for life with one disastrous thing or another. No contentment, just the endless battle."

He looks back down to the red line, eyes half closed. He pets it for a moment, runs his finger over the all too short tangle where it and the blue line become as if one before separating again, a tiny island of peace along the string of things. Then his eyes move up, he watches the lines with red, both pure and mixed start to collide, the pure blue streaking along, breaking away to find another, a greenish oddity with sparkles of red, before being directed right back into it... then pain... collision... and always one line, cracked and fading, leading away.

A hand falls upon his, in his light it reflects a dove soft, light sheen, with it her voice calls out, "You know... you really can't save them all."

As he tenses the female form looks away. His hand falls back from the lines and clenches. His teeth grit together, mouth opened into a maddened sneer. His eyes fill with something other than tears as unimaginable power leaks through him, his emotions breaking his abilities to restrain it. His shaking fist begins to spark, the space around them actually contorting slightly as it and time are drawn thinner. His growl seems to effect everything around him, as if time itself is afraid.

"But I WANT too." he spits through clenched teeth, "This is wrong, they deserve more."

"Not all stories have happy endings." the woman replies sadly, wings twitching on her back and head, she slumps forward, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them close to her, "Not even ours did... we couldn't even save ourselves."

"For us, only things end, attachment, closeness... no matter what, we keep going." there was a desperation in his voice now, a longing, he opened his hand and looked deeply into it, "This isn't right, we don't end, we never have, they never had a chance to truly start, never admitted anything."

As he fumed the form behind him became clearer, possibly because he fumed. She crawled in behind him, hugging him, a tress of green hair falling over his shoulder. Without even thinking he reached behind him, rubbing her head with the same fist that had been clenched. Time fell back into place around them, energies stopped leaking away. The woman let out a soft, satisfied little coo that had him smiling all over again. A peaceful moment passed.

"Well." she says softly, standing, "Isn't it time?"

"Is that a joke? Time?"

"No!" she says, throwing her arms wide, spinning round, "Isn't it time you do something about it!? Well?"

He turns, looking back at the threads, his eyes narrowing.

"Come on!" she goads, crossing her arms under her chest, a hand coming up so one of her fingers falls on her cheek while her wings spread as if she was floating, "Do it! You know you want to, you know you're the only one who can. Pull one of your insane little stunts. Do one of those impossible things you're always doing, those heart stopping, jaw dropping things like only you can."

"Heh," he laughs, "And if I'm not supposed to..."

"Like that's ever stopped you before." she remarks, leaning over him with a smile, "We both know it, once you get started... nothing stops you."

Light crackles through the nothingness, a smile spreads across his features. Thoughts flow through his brain, how's, what's, why's complex plans scheming across time. With an insane laugh he throws his arms wide, lightning dancing off of him, then brings his hands back together, blue energy sparkling and swirling between his palms. His face cracks in a knowing, lop sided grin and he is gone.

Alone in the dark place a single figure stands. A woman of incomparable beauty. In her eyes burn a fire of victorious evil. Glancing back over her shoulder, as if to something, someplace different, she breaks the silence only once before disappearing.

"Oh father, I think this should solve your little Zelretch problem."

And in a fit of dark laughter and a swirl of bats...

She is gone.