The deepest color is the one that never burns
In order for you to read this story, I cut rays from the sun's crown and made arrows to set the sea on fire. And when the death of the ocean was not enough for me, I dared to burn the sun itself and the sky turned to ashes and I celebrated the holocaust of the universe. And then, I woke up the world's volcanoes and the lava wrote the Bible of Sin. The one you hold in your hands...
I am Socrates. Protagonists in my life, those who lost themselves trying to find me. Those who gave me love and affection from the blessing to the curse. I don't know if I ever loved any of them, nor do I swear to myself if I ever felt love. Maybe I was afraid, maybe I didn't want to, maybe I couldn't stand it, who knows... I grabbed what they gave me and devoured it, leaving only the blood. I enjoyed, I demanded, I swept, I devoured. I ransacked their souls, planted mines in them, and danced the dance of madness until I tossed them into the air. No trace remained of their existence. I killed them. Everyone! I never played with fire, I was, the fire! I was betrayal itself, violence, utter madness of the mind... The gate of hell, the eclipse of the moon and the sun, the ebb and flow, the end of the world. I was, Scylla and Charybdis. Now, it doesn't matter. The story ended when blood sprang from the ashes. I hand it over to you.
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