[ShiroKirishiki]

The blood of an Angel is tears of sorrow.

Souls eternal, cursed to bear the morrow.

On Her knees, she trembled and wept.

Until His hand extended, for Her to accept.

Wings of black awaited Her,

once She fell from a road straight and narrow.

---

An ocean of blood ebbs and flows with the tides of an endless war.
Screams filled the air, slicing through the heart far deeper than any blade.
I was frozen in place, shock stilled my hand for the briefest of moments.
What I saw wasn't a cruel mistress, nor was it the idol of indomitable beauty I'd conjured.
I saw Her...hiding in walls of ink, trembling like a leaf about to fall.

She looked just like I did, as a girl. Cowering in the snows of the Izhuran mountains.

Afraid...and alone.

Even in Her sorrow, I am an echo.

---

Then, Him. The Creator. The orchestrator of a flawed design that I so loathed I called all of Him a stain upon the canvas.

Yet, He saved Her from ruin. He carried Her in His arms to a safer place, away from the wars and death she feared.

What am I to make of that? Have I been wrong this entire time?

My heart, my soul, my voice, my form...everything is devoted to Her.

And so...if He was the one to save Her, and give Her even the slightest hint of joy,

can I be justified in hating Him so absolutely?

I...do not know. That fact eats at me, gnawing at the frayed edges of my existence.

Ever since donning Vult, I have known the certainty of my purpose.

That is, until now.

Even Yoko, who has never faltered in all this time, trembled beside me.
I held her hand, tightly, to reassure her. Yet, it was also for my own sake, as if I would unravel if I let go.
Perhaps it was always like that...

---

We bore witness to Her tragedy. We bore witness to Her creative ways, and the cruel destruction of Her sanctuary.

I saw the tears that flowed from eyes that saw such wonderful things be rendered to naught.

I saw sorrow and anguish, mourning in every uneven breath as she wept.

I saw...and I knew a terrible truth: Can something as beautiful as that accept something as wretched as me?

My kindness is not pure, my intentions are always coiled in selfishness and cruelty.

If we succeed, bring Her back with wings of white…what will She do? Scorn me? Forget me?

…forgive me?

The answer frightens me far more than the echo. But even still, I will serve Her.

I likely cannot be truly loved. But I can love. I will love Her, serve Her, until the end of ends.

We will create a place for Her. Another land that holds Her high, and loves Her as I do.

A place that will protect what She holds dear, spreading Her kindness and beauty.

To that end, I accept my fate as a monster.
I will take on the darkness that needs to match Her light.
When they speak of Her, let it be with smiles and folded hands.

When they speak of me,
let it remind them of the cost of salvation.