The Devil's Night has come and gone to come again another day. The last act of the last era has grown dusty and it's battles nostalgic. Our wars of today are new, fought with gunpowder. Gore soaked ghosts of those brave men are on their way to haunt the old widow Winchester even now.

...this (desert) is a prison, surrounded by (nothing).

With all this, you would have thought the world had changed. And when I'm burrowed in safely under those concrete walls, covered with charms of worlds that I know better, I believe it has. Step out into the poisoned sunshine, however, and you see something entirely...embalmed. Rotting away in it's disgusting perfection, maggots gorge themselves on it's oozing sheen.

Growth has always existed only because of rot. I fail to see any, however.

Alas, what my little mako brain subsists on is probably of a different nature altogether. It is better that way, anyway.

This scrapmetal graveyard is polished and clean, though. Even if this world never changes, my reality has. And really, to a little egocentric pretender such as myself, what could matter more?

...(let's) open (our) heart to darkness.

Destroy Once Done