Memories of Morgoneth
Merciful Ateph, tell me what I must do. The tendrils of night claw at my waking thoughts, and the abyss fills my dreams. The world of day no longer comforts me.
I've peered beyond the far reaches of the tapestry of the gods. I knew not what to expect, but I expected 'something'; what awaited my sight was the absence of anything at all. In this void I found answers to questions I did not know I asked. Words filled my mind that carried no meaning and yet I was familiar with them, like the comfort of a warm hearth on a winter's night.
How could I deny such beauty, such perfection. The tapestry of the gods is a disease, a stain upon the uniformity of the abyss. To defy it is sheer folly. The lies of the gods have been lifted from my eyes, but others stand blind around me. They too shall be made to see.
No, no, they will not understand. They will falter and everything will shatter. They cannot merely be shown the truth, they must be remade to serve it. Yes, I will bind them in darkness, bind them to my will, so that all can be brought to the unmaker's embrace.
The anointed hour arrives, yes. They come, but they come too late. The iris points the way to the dawn of eternal night. When the devoured stars align, the tendrils of hunger will unravel the very earth and the end shall begin as it must.
At the conduit, the shadows take form, the seven will rise ever more. And when they come for me, the fools will all be made to see. Morgoneth the unmaker is here, and here forever he shall be.