Fly away, my muse; you are lost for me since ages, ever since I gave myself up for a dream that will never come true. I may search you in the memory of a blank sheet of paper, yet with you my tools have been lost as well.

Oh, yes, almost forgot… no, I will never find you again, because I have lost myself, willingly, and now I cry because I am too hollow to live again. Gates always slam in front of hollow people, and even the gates of dreams are reluctant to allow me glimpses of magic, glimpses of light.

And even if I’d be allowed to see that light again, my eyes no longer stand it, and even if my eyes would stand it, my heart is pitch black now, berried in herself, so easy to reach yet so hard to open. I think the lock may be rusty, I think my heart just became completely opaque and compact and it will never open again…

But my memories are still there, hidden in a corner of my mind, and I can still remember anything, any smile, any warm hand that has ever held mine, and most of all any dream of those million dreams I used to have. Those memories remained to haunt me and to torment me, now, when I stand in front of the last door that I shall pass, door that will never let me back to my life.

Sacrifice… oh, I sacrifice so little, when all I give now is a heart that’s dead already, and a body that is shallow and dark. At least those memories of mine store love for the dark, since only at night one can open the treasures of his soul and refresh them in cold, velvet like breeze, without worries and shames, without exposure and disguise.

Yes, I do like the night and the darkness that waits and I also like my smile-less face, my wide opened eyes, and my long dark hair. I like them because they are true. That is what I have become, that is my choice and that is the road of no return for me…. It’s just life, described maybe in a slightly different manner.

I wish I could just sleep now and never wake up, someplace deep within the earth where the light never enters and the darkness is almighty. I wish I can be a coward and if there is so much still, to take, to say stop now, and make it happen. But they say I am just a fool, and they say I am still needed – why? By whom? When all that I have left is the rock that shapes me, is the intriguing cartoon box that once had a gift inside and now is empty. Never underestimate human desire, little girl: a rock is still something to gain, not to lose, a rock is just something to have and to dispose of at your will, and that is why I am still needed. For the pleasure of the final blow…

But maybe tomorrow is a sunny day…

De Tracika

Greetings, mon’s and wo’mon’s! Me name would be Dacika, of the Kogaion’s kindred. Me has no war, or at least not yet, but me do has a little story.

Us Kogaions, from which Tracus and Zamolxes come too, used to live in the land called Burning Steppes, right in the middle road between Dracodar and Blackrock Pass. Some o’ you might recall this land to belong to the Dragons, and so it is indeed.

Me can’t say life was easy around the big fliying kin.