[h1][center]A PRELUDE TO ALLURE, AND UNTO FALAS[/center][/h1]
[center][h1]LIFPRASIL, THE FIRST-BORN[/h1][/center]

Within the bounds of his fantastic palace, Lifprasil sat alone, time seemed stranger, and stranger than before, it seemed as if it was unraveling beneath him, with every step he took, he felt the dialogue that dictated the way he expressed himself upon this world crumble further. It was almost as if this was but his first weary steps into the timeline beset upon him like a beast, it was almost as if he was not repetition, and not a visage of what had come before.

He felt as if his life was but one, and only one, a fleeting spark upon the layered vastness of time's plan, it made him feel original, fresh, but also far too wild for this world. Lifprasil felt like he cared of the mortal realm far too much, as if he thought [i]too highly[/i] of what smaller hands could achieve. This notion was foolish, however, Lifprasil knew it - he was so sure he knew it, that within this mite of salvation that so many strive for, this petty world, the gods would exhaust themselves; and this attrition would be dominated by his people. This notion Lifprasil was certain of, this astral prophecy formulated within his mind was something so fragile, however, as fragile as the existence of the ground he walked upon. Any uncaring deity could destroy this place with ease, any deity unfeeling could destroy this world, the culture, the people, the achievements of strength and will tinier than his own.

This was not acceptable, this concept of complete annihilation of the only thing he loved more ferociously than the beings within his life - those that he felt morality within themselves. He sat for days and nights within the same place, much like the routine he departed to within the Celestial Citadel, and soon the stars within the sky aligned into fantastic arcs of bleeding light that cleaved their way through the expansive flesh of the sky. It draped over him like a blanket of incomprehensible vastness, and his skin disappeared from his body, within flakes of a lie they floated ceaselessly into nothingness, and his breath left the embrace of his lungs to not return. He retained his true form now, that which he had consumed Grot with, that which held the blood of corruption through its nimble veins that oscillated along his real-body in an impressive spiral. 

Lifprasil was fully immersed within the fabric of things - or what he could achieve with what the Codex had taught him upon his birth, and within this state of fluidity, he was a simulated being of nothingness like his mother. He enjoyed this feeling of being smothered by the concepts and reasons of the universe, of time, but what he enjoyed the most was the fragmentation of things that gods merely brushed away, insights that the unbeing of deifying one's own could not see. Were these his dreams? Is this how a Demi-God of his peculiar nature slept? However fitfully with such odd thoughts?

For once in a very few times, Lifprasil did not know. All he knew was the present state he was in.

[url=https://youtu.be/imnSW6q3SFg][i]Suddenly[/i][/url]

An image struck him, from the fetish formed within the collected minds of the Divas four, he saw an owl as bleak, and as unseen as the shape of the universe, with an egg of many shapes at the crest of its being. This egg was the fixation, the malformation of the mind, and he could not understand what it was, or where it was, just that it [i]is[/i] within this playground. He had seen this hex before, in walking glances within his true form, and this hex lead him nowhere, it only begot more questions, and these questions disturbed him. The owl, the egg, [i]the hex.[/i]

It disturbed him. Lifprasil was afraid.

He woke up, so to speak, to see that the cleaving mass of stars had been consumed by the sun, as it beamed down a hearty warmth upon Alepfria, rather than the cold strangeness of things he felt foretold. Within the hardly disrupted atmosphere around him, an echo made itself true, and it bore into his temple to speak to him:

[i]Here lies the memory of our sister of knowledge Vulamera and our brother of time Vowzra. Here in their tragic deaths, we swear an oath to never seek the death of any sibling of ours signed onto this pact. We do this for the sake of our souls as well as the integrity of our hearts, for death begets death, and grief begets grief. May this place within the gate be a place where no god sets foot to do battle. In sacred remembrance of this, we declare: Fate shall no longer toy bloody games between our bodies into this timeline.[/i]

Vowzra, now, the entity he had spoken to before was dead, now, just like his mother. How tragic. Lifprasil felt a twinge of existential despair, and held himself within his own arms for a time. When the sun was swallowed by the scarred body of the night sky, however, Lifprasil composed himself once more, and in return to the pleading request; he only sent back a subtle poke, a teasing prod to make note of his existence. He did not know treachery, but he knew that there was strength in pleasing those more powerful than himself. His stance on neutrality did not change, however, so that facsimile of a response would hopefully be taken as such by whatever being cast out the request.

Lifprasil was stirred by the sound of Allure's naginata, however, and pertained to approach him - wherever he was in his palace. This realization of the owl's prose, and its link to such a close ally forced questions into the back of his mind... Questions that, for once, needed answers.