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Imoria (standard:fantasy, 505 words)
Author: KayEssAdded: Dec 05 2002Views/Reads: 1867/1Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
He is the Beautiful one.

He was strolling along, surveying the offset sky.  The stars
were un-naturally bright for being this early in the course of the 
night.  His cloak billowed behind him and ruffled with the way of the 
wind.  His ebony hair, being tousled about, shaped his lean jaw and 
split just a little around his wars to reveal the delicate points at 
their top.  His face was flushed from the biting cold winter wind, yet 
his lips were as smooth as the flow of the waterfall he was now looking 
down upon, no longer surveying the sky.  His eyes, oh his eyes!  The 
sparkles and colors!  The universe seemed to be captured in a small 
amount of space, yet so large! His name had been spoken for many years. 
 Some better and the rest worse.   of justice and peace, beauty and 
blemish, strength and weakness, distraction and tranquility.  It spoke 
of the young and of the old, the soldiers and the captives, the poor 
and the wealthy, the hunter and the hunted.  It revealed the future and 
the past, the forgiven and the unforgivable, loneliness and company.  
All of these things he had come to know well, oh so very well.  
Loneliness above all.  Always alone.  Always in company, though.  
Always the past.  Always the future.  Always poor.  Always beautiful.  
Beauty he had known almost as long as loneliness.  Always strong.  
Always weak.  Needing justice.  Needing peace.  Always young. Forever 
old.  Always hunting.  Always hunted.  Always there.  He had been 
called many things.  The Healer, the Worshiped, the Kind, the Terrible. 
 He had been thought of as Disgust, Torture, Wanderer, Dreamer, Love.  
No one knew his name, they just thought of him as they wished to, never 
knowing, yet always knowing.  He would come and go.  People would call 
him mysterious others would think of him as beauty itself.  No one ever 
really saw his face unless they could See Through, which was very rare 
for anyone, even himself.  He, of course, could See Through.  People 
could See Through to his identity, and become to know his name.  They 
would whisper it to him and he would become frustrated and would tear 
apart the person's memory, for they would torture him by revealing his 
identity to other people.  He would become terrified and he would have 
to hurt more people and then all of a sudden he would have to give up 
and go away forever, only to come back again.  The name that they 
whispered, inviting him to a challenge, and that he had nightmares 
about night after night was his most beautiful characteristic of all.  
Imoria.  Oh, what was in a name!  His name meant all of the mentioned 
above.  It was powerful and a weapon.  Imoria.  Speak it and you will 
understand.  It can drive one mad with its beauty and its power.  
Waiting to be drenched and left standing there without a trace.  Never 
holding back.  Ready to release the full blast.  It becomes one with 
him.  Names never part.  He is IMORIA!!!!


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