The night was lonely, the triple sickle dark moon casting violet moonlight.
The earth was deeply tranquil, surpassing words, absorbing all disturbances.
This was the Blood Witch Ancestral Land, where there were no seasons of spring, summer, autumn, or winter, only years that flowed like song.
When the millennial solitude revisited, emerged once more, this generationally dim soil finally returned to its original color.
"Light Witch God... Did the god fall?!"
The outward calm resulted in violent inner turmoil.
In the land of ancestral tombs, the fracturing sun turned from gold to red, violently contracting before rapidly expanding, eventually splitting into pieces amid the surrounding endless dust.
In an instant, a rain of light fell, like feathers dropping from a deceased angel, light and shimmering, breathtakingly beautiful and too quick to follow.
