ariseinmight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ariseinmight) wrote2005-12-27 12:50 pm
ariseinmight) wrote2005-12-27 12:50 pm
(no subject)
Melkor has been sitting in the chair by the desk in his room for two days without food or rest. Not that he requires these things, of course. Which goes some way to explaining why he hasn't noticed the time.
The crystal globe from Námo is on the desk in front of him. Melkor's eyes have hardly moved from the item since he came to his room after receiving the gift. The memory inside replays over and over again: Eä, empty and unspoiled. He can see his clouds in Manwë's sky, his snow on Aulë's mountains, his ice on Ulmo's waters. Varda set the stars, but Melkor made them fall. Yavanna brought forth the green and growing things, and Melkor caused them to change color and die to be reborn. Even Námo and Nienna's realms felt the touch of Melkor's additions to the First Song, although those effects were not seen in the glow of the crystal. Neither were any of Oromë's beasts, yet many of them would display the signs of Melkor's influence as well.
There was nothing in this new world that did not have some evidence of Melkor's desires. It was a vision of beauty, of perfection.
If only they'd left it alone. It was perfect, just as it was. There was life, there was beauty, there was peace.
Of course, they hadn't left it alone. Only after the creation was it made clear that this world hadn't been created for the Ainur, but for them, the so-called "Children of Illúvatar". As though the Ainur weren't also His children! No, it wasn't their world after all: they had brought Eä into existence only for the enjoyment of lesser beings! And so Melkor had left his siblings, been cast out for his unpopular opinions, and had struck out alone, determined to reclaim the lands for his people -- even if they no longer claimed him among them.
But, from the crystal's point of view, all of that was yet to come. In the crystal, everything was perfect. If only...
Abruptly, Melkor's vision blurs. He can't focus on anything; the images swim before him. A moment later, everything clears, and he feels something wet against his cheeks. He touches his fingers to his face, and they come away stained black. He steps into the bathroom for the first time since procuring the room. Looking in the mirror, he begins to understand.
Two streams of black trace down his face, plopping heavily into the porcelain sink to create an indelible Rorshach pattern in shades of grey. He's crying. Crying in a way that shouldn't be possible for him. But there it is. Before his eyes, his reflection begins to change. The blackness in those eyes begins to fade, first grey, then silver, then eggshell. The Void -- what portion of it was pulled inside him, at least -- is leaving him, pooling in the sink and swirling down the drain.
When the last of the black slips off his cheeks, Melkor looks again into the mirror. What once was black and empty is now white. His eyes, long obscured by the Void, are visible again. Colorless, but nevertheless there. He considers this a moment, then changes. His skin goes pale, his hair long and black. An appearance more fitting to the eyes, he decides.
Back at the desk, Melkor sits and watches the scene play out once more, this time through his bright, clear eyes. The colors are sharper, the shadows not so dark. This was the way he saw it that first time. This was the world as he wanted it to be.
He begins to laugh. The sort of laugh that goes on longer than it should, because the person laughing knows that it will turn into sobbing the moment it stops.
And it does.
The crystal globe from Námo is on the desk in front of him. Melkor's eyes have hardly moved from the item since he came to his room after receiving the gift. The memory inside replays over and over again: Eä, empty and unspoiled. He can see his clouds in Manwë's sky, his snow on Aulë's mountains, his ice on Ulmo's waters. Varda set the stars, but Melkor made them fall. Yavanna brought forth the green and growing things, and Melkor caused them to change color and die to be reborn. Even Námo and Nienna's realms felt the touch of Melkor's additions to the First Song, although those effects were not seen in the glow of the crystal. Neither were any of Oromë's beasts, yet many of them would display the signs of Melkor's influence as well.
There was nothing in this new world that did not have some evidence of Melkor's desires. It was a vision of beauty, of perfection.
If only they'd left it alone. It was perfect, just as it was. There was life, there was beauty, there was peace.
Of course, they hadn't left it alone. Only after the creation was it made clear that this world hadn't been created for the Ainur, but for them, the so-called "Children of Illúvatar". As though the Ainur weren't also His children! No, it wasn't their world after all: they had brought Eä into existence only for the enjoyment of lesser beings! And so Melkor had left his siblings, been cast out for his unpopular opinions, and had struck out alone, determined to reclaim the lands for his people -- even if they no longer claimed him among them.
But, from the crystal's point of view, all of that was yet to come. In the crystal, everything was perfect. If only...
Abruptly, Melkor's vision blurs. He can't focus on anything; the images swim before him. A moment later, everything clears, and he feels something wet against his cheeks. He touches his fingers to his face, and they come away stained black. He steps into the bathroom for the first time since procuring the room. Looking in the mirror, he begins to understand.
Two streams of black trace down his face, plopping heavily into the porcelain sink to create an indelible Rorshach pattern in shades of grey. He's crying. Crying in a way that shouldn't be possible for him. But there it is. Before his eyes, his reflection begins to change. The blackness in those eyes begins to fade, first grey, then silver, then eggshell. The Void -- what portion of it was pulled inside him, at least -- is leaving him, pooling in the sink and swirling down the drain.
When the last of the black slips off his cheeks, Melkor looks again into the mirror. What once was black and empty is now white. His eyes, long obscured by the Void, are visible again. Colorless, but nevertheless there. He considers this a moment, then changes. His skin goes pale, his hair long and black. An appearance more fitting to the eyes, he decides.
Back at the desk, Melkor sits and watches the scene play out once more, this time through his bright, clear eyes. The colors are sharper, the shadows not so dark. This was the way he saw it that first time. This was the world as he wanted it to be.
He begins to laugh. The sort of laugh that goes on longer than it should, because the person laughing knows that it will turn into sobbing the moment it stops.
And it does.