Enter the Shadows

Is your soul dark? Dark as the coal you so freely tip into your fire? Dark as the alleys you stroll into in the dead of night? Dark as the young hairs that freely grow from your scalp? Freedom is a virtue, Sir. A power. It is not for the likes of you. It must be worked for. And I do not think your soul conceals the darkness nor the strength needed to even begin to taste the sweet caress of freedom. With the dark comes free will. Laws are beneath the freedom of evil, and if you strive further into the shadows of your heart - your mind - your very soul - I am confident that you will find the blackness required to join me.

When did you last feel pain, Sir? Did it hurt as much as this? No. Of course it didn't, but freedom cannot come without pain. Empty, lonely caverns in your heart, only filled with the reverberating echo that cries in an effort to stop it all, chilling you from within. The deep resounding silence is maddening to the weak. But you cannot stop now. You are too deep in, once the darkness has claimed you like this, you can never return. You will always be pulled back to it until your very soul screams with lust for the freedom. Do not even try to escape the satisfyingly cold clutch of evil, Sir. You will only make it worse for yourself. From here on, you can only crawl deeper. The dark is forgiving. You will feel at ease, at home. The new found freedom will spur you to new lengths. Just think, soon you will never be burdened with the heavy weight of regret or sympathy again. The sharp, stabbing, crippling pains of emotion will be gone forever. Weakness will be no more. Just come with me. Prove yourself.

Come with me to where the wind slashes through great dark trees, and branches whip through the stale air, whilst twigs fall victim to the force. Deadened leaves lie still on the ground, soft and soggy with what was, never moving on; still and lifeless - cold. The shadows bristle through the emptiness, and daylight will never see the ground. I have made certain of that. Hatred echoes through the ages, Sir. Hatred and filth and destruction. Rotting away, mouldering foully, forgotten or ignored. Until of course someone brings it up. This is what we plan to do, Sir. Bring it up. It is as much a part of life as breathing. Yet there are of course those unworthy to breathe. We will soon rid ourselves of them. Many are being dealt with as we speak.

This land is barren and desolate, and eerie oppressing silence suffocates it, crushing the weak who cross the path of shadows into silent minions, stripped of power and dignity, maddened by the still, unchanging air. The dark. The trees are weak and brittle. Many are dead. Flowers have not graced the earth there for many a year now. Brightness and colour is long forgotten. There is only grey. Grey and black to soothe the eyes - the heart - the soul. Do you still wish to come with me, Sir? To follow me into the shadows? It is cold, and if you are still willing to feel and to love, you will never succeed. You must be stronger than that. Love is merely a charade, a distraction. It shows weakness and is nothing more than a desperate escape from the daunting prospect of empty solitude. I am being honest with the world, Sir; I am taking all the festering secrets of the cold and evil stagnant swamp that we live in, and spreading them. Soon everyone will feel the pain of it. The world will be no more than a shallow cesspool of unforgiving hate. Spite. Dark will consume their unsuspecting souls and they will be glad for it. They will be free. Free as the empty land I tell you about. That open land where there is everything, yet nothing all at once. Where cold deadened fingers scrape at the blackened sky and not even the smallest creature is seen to cross the ground, for fear of the evil presence that resides over it.

That presence is the reason for the deepening dark. It is only a matter of time before it spreads further, deeper than before. For it has been before, Sir - that soulless evil has reigned before, yet was stopped by a foolish play of emotions. An ignorant attempt for mercy. Yet mercy is beyond the strong. Just as regret and love are. Everything is calculated, beneficial and controlled. The foolish ones who still chose to live in the light are blind to this. They make mistakes and pull themselves away from the lull of the shadows. Those liberating, soft, subtle shadows.

No, Sir, do not force it, you are already mine. You belong to the darkness now and there is no going back. You will not regret this with time. With time you will regret nothing, and you will forget the foolish life you once lived. Your eyes will at last be open. This will help you in the tasks that are to come. Do not fight it, Sir! Your efforts are in vain. You cannot achieve the impossible. Do you really think that they would accept you back into their bound world of light? That unforgiving abyss of morals and pain? You are unwanted, Sir, unwelcome. An outcast. You cannot go back there now. As soon as you stopped to listen and question the light, you had no chance of escape. The black is within you now as it is in me, and there is no hiding from it. Listen to it. Allow it to lull you deeper in. The pain will not last, I assure you. It will ease, and then all pain will be gone forever. There will only be power. Strength. You will thrive in it. People of the light would drown and be crushed by the honest misery of life. But not you, Sir. Not us. We are children of the darkness and can embrace it. We must embrace it. We cannot escape from who we truly are. Listen to me, Sir! Listen to the darkness. It calls to you. The darkness calls to you. You will at last deserve your freedom, and if you come with me you may do with it as you wish. Come with me now, Sir. Come with me to that land and you will be at home at last. Come with me to where Lord Voldemort lives. This is evil in its purest.