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My footsteps are silent and quick. You can't see me. You strike me, I don't strikeback. You can't hear me. You talk to me, I talk back. Silence. You move, I follow. Shadows move and sway to a person's form. Sometimes they have a mind of their own. The fire burns and the shadows move. But my parents, they don't move, but their shadows move. They come to me in my times of need. My parents don't move, but their shadows do. I stare at the fire in my hand. My shadow doesn't move. He left me a while ago....a while ago he ran away and took my parents with him and now they don't move. My parents don't move, they are ashes now.
My actions are quick and abrasive. You don't see me. My rage burns and flickers. You don't hear me. My parents slept as the fire burned. Silence. Fire moves and sways to no one's form. But it does for me. The shadows move and the fire burns. I still move, but my shadow doesn't. Their shadows move, their shadows come. I still move, but my shadow doesn't. The flame burns in my hand. This flame came for my parents. The shadow flame moves....it always has. The fire moves with my form, I am a demon now, but I am an angel too.
The flame in my hand is cold, cold as ice. The shadows take my hand. It's all my fault, why do they stay with me? My heart is still here, it is warm and soft. The burning rose has no shadow. Why is this so? The burning rose is not hot like fire, the fire is cold.
I clench my fists. The shadows pulse. The wings upon my back grow hot and cold. The rose flares and the flames are hot, but the rose remains alive and there is no shadow. The rose grows, ensnaring my body. I drop it now, but it still grows, coiling around my trembling body. But I am cold.
My footsteps are lound now, but you won't hear me. You take a swing at me, I swing back, but you won't see me . You talk to me, I don't respond. You move, I stay put and the silence continues.
The truth is heard , the silence fades and time moves on. The rose that binds me disappears. Now I fall, but shadows don't catch me.
A ten year old boy lies in the grass in front of a burned down house, a wilted black rose by his side. Neither cast a shadow, but you can see thhe fire in his eyes. A young girl leans over his body, his beloved cousin he says.
Time moves like fire, ever changing and haulting for now one as defined by the boy. This boy goes by the name of Daemon, his parents were taken from him in a mysterious fire. But he fire is no mystery to him, for he knows the truth. He is an angel and a demon at the same time.
For he is the keeper of the flame.