Yina

And so she descended unto them. A pure-white beacon, drowning out the squawking cries of the land with a deafening silence. She called to them, and like moths to a candle, they came. They came to her in droves, weak eyes shielded from her breathtaking light.

She was their protector. Their savior. She would destroy the darkness that cloaked the earth. She would save them from the tainted world. She was a sign. A mark of hope. She would guide them to their Edenic landscape as they had so long been promised.


She razed the land with eyes obscured. Meting out a divine punishment to the sullied, the disgraceful, the sinners. Purifying it. Purifying them. Salvation. They followed her, basking in her glow. Protected from the wretched landscape.


She felt the land growing ever cleaner as she splattered the blood of yet another across the barren waste. Imperfect. Imperfect. Sinful. Sinners. All of them. A wash of perfect, clean silence overtook their screams. A lovely, deafening sound. Justice.


Behind her blinded eyes, the land was being cleansed. A sense of overwhelming clarity came with every righteous action she made, like a drop of water in a silver bowl.



And yet the land... remained unsterile...
For there were still others who remained.
For who were the ones who had created the land as it was?
Who were the ones who allowed the darkness to flourish?
Who were the ones who allowed sin into their homes.
Who were the ones. within whom. lived imperfection.
Who. were the ones. who still. tainted. her. perfect. pure. Eden.


And so she turned on them. She turned on her charges, dried blood congealing under her claws, ashy with the charred remains of the sinful. Mouth bloody and gaping, she slaughtered them, one by one. Wings torn and mangled, she purified them. Purified her land. Her Eden. Her Paradise.


But still.


In the end.


Something remained.