It hung in the air, heavily
That unmistakable stench, that awkward stillness
of everything.

It had cast its shade upon gaunt, twisted limbs
and forever veiled celestial brilliance that cloudless night.

No breath stirred the silent lethargy.

In midnight hues, Gaia spun senseless,
Suspended in that endless void
with none to witness Her dismal dance.

Once, music had filled the air. Of birds aflight,
of the gentle wind playing amidst the branches,
of life, as it flitted past, or leapt, or swam
or ran, or burrowed.

Then came the noise. That jarring dissonance
which drowned the music. Shrieking, clawing, strangling.
And the world had gasped in pain.

Gaia had suffered, and finally cried out
A cry that shattered the noise,
Sliced through the whispers of song
and left all in silence. She could suffer no more.

So She spins, so She dances.
She will suffer no more.

It hung in the air, heavily
That unmistakable stench, that awkward stillness
of everything.

No breath shall stir the silent lethargy.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Scarlatan, in the year 598 AF.