An actual or mythical creature.
Stare into its eyes and you will see all of man’s creation, the fires that warm the lonely and the water to calm the passions. Stare into its eyes and you will see the sorrows and regrets of civilizations gone, and the petulant monuments to all of their sins. Stare into its eyes and you will see inspirations of geniuses past, and those yet to be found.
Stare if you can, into that malleable wraith that cloaks itself with the terrible truth, the innermost thoughts and fears manifest in the air for one to see one thing and another to see another. Watch its grace and beauty idolized by bards past, and its mutations and contortions inspiring poets today. Watch as it confronts its people with their dreams, forces them to face hidden fears.
But stare into its eyes, and you will not find the future, the sparkling, uncertain future, for the wraith is found only in the present as a monument to the past. It repeats. Recites. Retells. It watches, not knowing what it sees, for the wraith does not see, it reflects. And those who look into that fearsome, ethereal face will see their own scowling back at them.
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