There is a season in which the spirits within man have awaken to the truth and must fight and live and love and die. Wise eyes open without experience, and though blind, they walk a sure road. Always, in every season, there are those who are called and answer. To usher the season that the world has never seen. Though every era must end. There must be a last, and only a remnant will carry the truth to its last.
There lived a man that desired what every man desires, yet most never know. Though he saw more than most, he saw only enough to know that he was blind. The truth that always accompanied him let him see the marionettes around him, though first the puppet he was. Therefore, his actions were silent, and his hope lay dormant as a bear through the winter.
Whispers of his destiny danced around him, teasing him with that which his blood carries, educating him the play he lives in, so he may pull the sharpened rapier to the battle scene. He knew, and yet he was blind. His hope, though alive remained hidden from him.
On the summer breeze, swirling amongst a most sincere act, the truth ignited the wick of his heart. A pure knowledge without understanding was planted, and on the same wind came the song. The song that proceeded its prophesy. Though the meeting was brief, the resignation carried on for many months. In desperation for the truth, hope hid, and a prophet died.
If you can divine the full meaning of my words, I would like to talk to you, for you have deeply interested me. Though, I believe that there are very few people that could. What would amaze me even more is if the characters of this story could identify themselves. Especially in the chapters that they seem not to be mentioned. Though there is still much to be divined no matter how well one knows the story.
The characters in this chapter.
The prophet
The marionettes
The starry child
The ancestor
The sincere actor
The bard
and The murderer
Think of it as a riddle.
