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But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people?
Brom
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Brom
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My name's Peter. Can I play too?
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Peter glanced up at the stars and a wicked smile lit his face. Time to play, he whispered to the stars and winked. And the stars winked back, for Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.
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What will happen, will happen.
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Enough talk, Peter said, and his eyes flashed. It's time to turn you three into killers.
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And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter's laugh was a most contagious thing.
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Peter stood, cleared his throat, and began to hum softly, then sing, slowly building up the song as his voice cleared. He found the old tune, the song of the Sunbird. And as he sung, as his rich voice echoed off the tall cliffs, the birds and the faeries lent him their voice and soon the tune drifted throughtout the garden.
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That's the spirit, one part brave, three parts fool.
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There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.
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Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?
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Men-kind shared this world for but a blink, then, sadly, they became enlightened, found science and religion. The new world of men left little room for magic or the magical creatures of old. Earth’s first children were driven into the shadows by flame and cold iron, by man’s insatiable need of conquest.
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