Overcast: The Black Storm Ballad

Clouds roll in from all walks of the earth, block out the sun, and dominate.
Their power is subtle, but not completely unknown.
Nature responds, and it’s animals flee and seek shelter from the storm not yet come.
The mists blanket the lands, consuming all in endless gray. It is thick enough to rob the sight of the sharpest eyes.
No remorse, no mercy, only its complete control.
All are slaves to its grasp.
Desolation, solitude, suffocating confinement.
The skies begin to roar.
They are crying for reasons unexplained.
The sky’s tears flow, and flow freely into infinity, drenching all in their sorrow.
The small, weak, and slow are caught in the resulting floods, drowned and crushed by the rushing waters.
They never stood a chance.
Turbulent torrents sweep over all, devouring relentlessly like the gluttonous man— no restraints.
A hideous being so engorged that it has morphed beyond all recognition, and has abandoned all humanity. Forsaking beauty for its ugly and wicked form, such is the way of the storm.
Lights streak across the sky, from sorrow to rage, and from rage is born an unspeakable hatred.
Tears no longer flow, and instead the sky lashes out in its new found fury. Fires erupt where the rains failed to reach.
Nothing is safe, nothing is pure, nothing untouched.
Betrayed and defiled by the seemingly gentle heavens.
Cursed, kicked, and burned by the very sky whose beauty knew no end. A demon in an angel’s garb.
Allure is the tool of the despicable, used to crippling effect, as the Earth would know.
Ravaged, washed, and stripped bare by its now once known companion-turned-adversary.
Closest friends to complete strangers at a glance.
Once deeply intertwined, now acknowledging the wrongfully imposed separations of heaven and earth.
The skies quiet, the fury appears to retreat.
The tears flow once more, and the lament of the stars bleeds out over the lands.
Toxic, and sickening.
Their pain is fully realized in every single drop.
The flames are quelled, but the damage is done.
The scorched earth is not washed clean.
Instead, the mournful stream fuses with the ashes of hatred, breeding the black sludge of regret.
It is a bile unlike any other, the worst poison known by any being, both mortal and divine.
The disease spreads, carried by the misleadingly gentle winds.
Deception reigns once more.
The plague soon reaches every inch of land under the gray-owned sky, and by nightfall, the pitch had claimed the earth before ascending skyward. Blackness over all— a throne left in waiting— now claimed by the seemingly rightful king…

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