text: This is from a WP that got removed by the mods. Any and all feedback/criticism welcomed: “My, my. Now this piece, this is exquisite,” said Nalgoth the Destroyer. His eyes lit up with a disturbing joy. They were literally on fire. Had it not been for the demonic face which held those eyes, an onlooker might have been concerned. “Lord Nalgoth, you are fond of this?” I was unsure what to say. When I had created this painting, its purpose was to embarrass an emperor. The painting exaggerated Nalgoth’s features in the extreme. It was a twisted thing that did not remotely resemble the pseudo-deity before me. I had taken exceptional care when crafting this piece. Each stroke had required my utmost concentration. The fumes from carefully selected artificer shades still burned my nostrils. Life had burdened me with a painter’s purpose. Art was my vitality. Today, my art would mean the difference between living and dying. With my paintbrush, I had intended to choose death. But sometimes art speaks different words than its creator. “This depiction is precise and reflects a part of me that I had long forgotten, but desire to remember. Do mortals feel this sense of nostalgia when they peer into a mirror?” Nalgoth spoke with an unnatural weight. Each word hammered into the ears of the listener with an oppressive malaise. One of the other patrons visibly shuddered, but quickly tried to hide it. Nalgoth’s words baffled me. I had chosen to paint his portrait as an act of defiance. The painting was farce, not facsimile. Its forced perspective and unfinished tones were meant as a crude but effective insult. Instead, the being before me acted as if I had fashioned his likeness with magnificence in mind. “Did you know that every death weighs on me? I remember the faces of every life that I have taken. Even those that were not at my own hand. But I know what the alternative would have been. You do not. Yet, in this depiction, you have not shown me as monstrosity. There is humor here. And I am not deceived. I know of your intent. Think you, that I could not feel your animosity?” Nalgoth smiled. I paled. He had seen through me. To him--to it--I was transparent. I could feel those burning eyes upon my face. I could only look at one eye at a given moment. Yet each time I gazed into one of those eyes, my thoughts began to turn to dark places. Blood. Blood. Blood. Everywhere. There were droplets on my hands. A smell of iron in the air. When I licked my lips to parch their dryness, it tasted coppery. I forced my attention back to the moment. My eyes fell on the painting. It depicted something that I could only describe as a creature. It was parody. The creature in the painting had eyes that burned, like the thing that stood before me. Twisted horns emerged from various parts of its face. Nalgoth had no horns. My depiction was of a devil. The person before me, if he could be called a person, was more of a devil than even that which I had managed to put to canvas. I realized my mistake too late. What I saw as parody, Nalgoth’s twisted mind turned to truth. To him, the horns were a symbol of something that I did not comprehend. He was beyond my understanding. “Power is a curse. My power, especially. I love each of you as though you were my own children. I see the mistakes that you make, and I want to guide you. I cannot. You cannot be guided. Children is the perfect word for you.” As he said the world children, he made something like a finger quote gestures. “In my life’s terms, you are mere babes. I hate myself. For the things that I had to do. You needed guidance. You needed a father. I am the only one who could be the parental figure that you needed.” Nalgoth looked past me. He was looking somewhere that I could not see. Again, he defied my comprehension. I decided that I had to speak. I would either live in misery, or die trying to convince a monster that he was a monster. “You are nothing but a tyrant. Everything that you have touched has turned to ash.” I quivered as I spoke. Each word would likely take years from my life. That was fine. There was no one left to live for. For the second time today, I was shocked by Nalgoth’s response “Yes. You are right.” He said the words with certainty. Again, the dreadful weight in his voice threatened to take me under. And again, I was unsure of what to say, what to do, or how to feel. “You say that you love us, but you also admit that everything you have done has caused nothing but misery. Why do you continue?” If I was going to die, I might as well get answers. “Ah, but I merely admitted that I am, in fact, a tyrant. And, that you are correct. Everything that I have touched has turned to ash. Do you know what ash is good for? It contains potassium, phosphorus, magnesium. Ash is a fertilizer. The forest must be burned to make room for saplings. I have split the tall oaks so that homes may be built in the future. Where the forest is burnt, new trees shall grow. Do not mistake my words, child. I need not convince you of my sincerity or the fervor of my belief. You too, have value to me. Your painting shows everything that I have loved about your people,” said Nalgoth. A part of me was sickened by his words. For a third time, I found myself unable to respond adequately. Nalgoth straightened, his head brushing against the ceiling. He somehow felt larger than the room. “We will speak again someday, child. I know that you wish to end your life but stay steadfast. I am sorry for the pain that I have brought you. One day, this will all be worth it. One day, we will live in harmony.” The fire in his eyes seemed to die down a little. He smiled, but it was not threatening. He seemed almost fatherly as he walked out the door.