I never really expected it to come to this. I half thought that perhaps, someday, I would be lost, lost in the vortex of my emotions, stolen away by the maelstrom within my mind. I just didn't expect it to happen to soon, to devour me as wholly as it did. It left no trace. It never does, you know, it just consumes and destroys until there is nothing left but ashes. Nothing left but ashes, indeed, for if you look inside of me, that is what you shall find. Ashes, as though all the greatest dragons of the world had breathed upon my soul and left me a swirling grey-black cloud. As though Erlissan and Hephaestus and Frostpine and every god of the forge had conspired to throw me into their crucible. To burn away all that is not perfect, to leave me a melted puddle of pure silver, pure moonlight, but alas for me, there was nothing pure in me at all, and now I am merely ashes.

I am merely... fallen.

I didn't know that it could happen like this. I entertained the idea that there was a shadow inside of me, that I had to accept my darkness and embrace it and control it, for one must know one's darkness to know one's self, but I never, in all the years I have lived and all the years between lives, dreamed that so much of me was that shadow. Now there is nothing but the darkness, hungry and vicious in all its malicious glory, leaving nothing behind but itself, nothing but the darkness within, the shadow that I once thought to rule, that now rules me. I have been weighed, I have been measured, and I have been found wanting, for there is nothing worth wanting within me, nothing worth the pain and the temptation of the shadows that wish to spread out from me and consume others, for as I have never been enough for anyone, so too will I never be enough for the darkness. Now I am merely a shadow of myself, a shadow of my making, a shadow of a shadow that has moved on to devour those more pure, more promising, and less corruptible than I.

I am merely... fallen.

Was I supposed to understand? How could I have? I didn't even know that the possibility existed, much less that is was my destiny. My destiny, in fact, to fall victim to the darkness within, to fall victim to the serpent, the devouring wyrm that destroys and twists. I was made to create, to make things of such beauty and profoundity as to make mortals weep. Now, all I can do is merely make them weep, and there is no creation involved, for I burn their homes and I burn their hopes, and only in destruction can I be whole, for the darkness has taken from me that spark with which I gave my creations life, that ember that I whittled down to distribute amongst my childer. There is an emptiness always within me, a darkness, the very shadow that has consumed me and now has moved on, leaving traces of itself, branded upon my forsaken soul... or what is left of it. That shadow permeates all I try to create now, and devours my work before I have truly begun. Destruction is now my only gift, the end the only thing I have to give. To take. Now I am merely a devourer myself, bent by the darkness within myself to consume all in my path, as it has consumed me. Within the crucible, any part of me that was good or pure was evaporated, and now... now there is only ashes.

I am merely fallen.

I am.... forsaken.