From the discordant pieces of a fragmented elegy life will pick up anew. One can only hope that they get to see what comes next and that the future scorches those who would see it snuffed out.

Still. Rot is not forever. The cycle contiunes, things will change. The beast will learn of its doing and will reap its end.

Today we watch as an idea dies. As hope wanes but does not die. Those dreamers who see what can be changed and reach for it are now the only hope that remains. As those who are left decieved and beguiled learn of the leopards, their infamous party and will be forced to beg for a saviour.

Where all that is left is heat and suffering. Rot is uncaring. Rot is not evil but a part of the cycle. As our monster's ambitions grew so to did the job of the decomposers. The one's who turn death, our end, into new life. Death was never truly an end. Until now.

not just to decompose.To watch as a body rots shows that time is passing, but this is no ordinary rot. This is the gloam of a land forgotten. A once sun-dappled glade becomes an arid waste where not even the creatures that once enjoyed and endured the cycles of life have fallen.

To languish not just in the many mires the mind makes but to see as flesh melts away, bones become dust over eons as the soil too hard to grant the reprieve of internment grow flatter, dust-coated, and sun-bleached as the most virile and petulant beast tore down the cycle it had one enjoyed long ago

not just to decompose.To have the symphony left in one's soul unravel and grow discordant and brittle. To. Rot.