A mausoleum of the beauty, there was nothing past his grave. Existence itself turning unpleasant to look at. fiery soul of It died after. for what It would fight. buried Itself in same grave as his. Days and nights bleeding into chaotic maze of mind. The lump in throat denying to bleed, staying as sole anchor on behalf. Realizing It had lost the meaning, finally understanding It had one. Wandering now without, every step in desert, sinking in deep mud. what direction It take? where anything would lead? indefinite ocean of misery, sky-blue, no known depth. with him, Its eyes were gone too. Mourning of his loss, had built cathedral ruins. bewitching and ancient. The ruins in Its soul that felt like dawn, a warm touch of the cold. When the sun rose, with its fainted red ray, the true gloaming. It couldn't bear that hope. Stygian doom born through him. And It belonged to that doom. When heaven stayed in dark, what was the use of new dawn? The darkness that mesmerized It, with its ethereal glow of known grief. is now a omen that consumes It whole. The mourning never ends, It mourned over him, now grieving over Its own death. A life-long mourner of grief.