The Way It Ended (and began again.)

This was the ending, unfurling at last, the time long past for the eldritch legend to come to a close. Not a facetious terminus, mind you – one cannot end such a piece in such a way. This is the story of barbarian warriors fighting through moist swamps and barren deserts, amorphous demons summoned from the seventh ring, pulchritudinous heiresses passing dauntless judgement upon worlds with such fury that countless hearts, limitless bodies, were forced to cicatrize and cooperate, their only victory measured through how long they could suffer defeat. Kings – Excelsior, Antioch, Rivaldo – sitting safe with their feasts and finery, dainties and codpieces, flabbergasted as their armies fell, reduced to peasants. Exiled.
This was the story of a skank and a Google search, a stick of celery in her drink and a carrot in her mouth as she struggled with crippling ennui, the moon above as she failed to find forgiveness, ethanol splashed in a gas tank. The story of a chiaroscuro photo, a trigger, her catalyst. Love lost, betrayal. Fury of a hurricane, elemental. Anagnorisis – the fault lay not with her target. Self-defenestration, the twinkle of shattered glass as she fell.
This was the end, and where it began again. They led to one another. Countless other stories followed. All they needed… was a path between.