Terra

How it is: 

The Sky is red, the Surface is black.

How it was:

The Sky was blue, the Surface was green.

How it will always be:

Alive.

How it works:

Through the Decisions to be Made.

The King:

There are always Decisions to be Made, and who better to make them than a King? The one who holds the power and shoulders the responsibility is the King. Do not be fooled, there is not a prescribed standard by which Decisions are to be made, and hence there is no Good and Bad to the Decisions. And the power is not reserved, locked away for some sort of make-believe Royalty or sacred Blood. The Kingship is for the taking. The one who chooses to stand up and take the power can use it, and must also bear the weight of the Choice. The weight is always the King’s burden. The consequences, not always.

The Seamstress of the Chaos:

 It wasn’t that the wine was not sweet (it wasn’t), nor that the husband was unfaithful (so was she, what of it?). It was that there was an end in sight to it all, and nothing good lay ahead (at best she would never have cause to worry again, at worst, the fanatics who spoke of burning fires and torture would be right, and she would be wrong, and she would burn, except perhaps they would likely burn alongside her).

Her choice:

She took the Kingship, Decided that it need not come to an end.

The problem:

It was just that she went about it in exactly the Wrong way.

The Adjudicator of the Wrongdoings:

He enjoyed his work, he went about it with relish. As he pronounced punishment upon those who had Sinned, for a moment he was the merciless hand of the Divine. He held a Life in his ink-stained hands, a life that would someday be weighed and found wanting, a Life he would make miserable long before that. Only now he found himself alone, lacking the hands that carried out his will, face to face with that which was far more powerful than he.

The Reality of the Law:

The Law will not protect you if those who uphold it have ceased to exist.

The Teller of the Fortunes:

The Future is a terrifying beast with countless heads. The trick is to find the kindest head, look upon it with love, until the day you allow it to consume you. The Teller of the Fortunes is no fool. She knows that even the sweetest head will snap occasionally. She packs her coins, packs her cards, and leaves.

The Chaos:

The town is empty. Except for she who stands and sips the wine she never liked, sips and surveys. The town is empty. There are more towns.

The Minstrel of the Sweetest Voice:

He stands in the square of many a town, stands and sings a song that sounds like the wind through the trees.

The Acumen:

The more you imbibe, the more you crave, and the more is needed to quench the thirst.

The Towns, the Cities:

Gone.

What is Left:

The Fauna.

Gaia:

She does not even turn in her sleep.

The Forests:

They miss the deer that grazed in the shade.

The Seamstress of the Chaos, the Bringer of Destruction:

She wakes underneath the trees, to find a fox’s hollow empty. She remembers the flash of red fur, and then the wave of weariness. A Sleepsong. A man’s voice. One regret. She knows what she has missed, what she has craved, even after she has lain among the tulips and brought herself to climax. Her hands do not excite her the way she desires, they cannot hold her, they cannot want for her, they cannot speak to her. They cannot say her name over and over, until it loses all meaning to the roaring within her body. This one she will not kill until she needs to.

The Teller of the Fortunes:

She has her own ways of keeping alive. When she was King, she decided not that there would be no end, but that the end would be when she wanted it. She knew that if one refused the end, then they faced the all the heads of Fortune, countless as they are. She knows this, and she waits.

The beginning of the end:

When the last of the reptiles has fallen, Gaia dreams for the first time in millenia. She dreams of theft and of rape, of sorrow and of fear. As she dreams, she strikes out with her arm, as if to ward off the terrors. The surface roils.

The Heads of the Future - Injury:

It has been a long time since she hunted down the Minstrel, claimed him for her own. Many days and many nights has she amused herself in his arms, lost herself to passion, revelled in the sound of her name in the beautiful voice that sings for her alone, that she carefully treasures. As the land comes alive and moves beneath them, they fall and are in turn fallen upon. He is crushed entirely, the sweetness of his death stolen from her by the land for a moment of relief from the nightmare. The ground relaxes, leaving her alone with a crushed arm. The Pain of Injury is like nothing she has known, and she sobs as she drags herself to a meadow, battered and bleeding. Desperately does she search for a living creature, some life to heal her, to save her. Two bumble bees drop dead, as does a shimmering dragonfly, but they are nowhere near enough to repair her body that has long moved past such meagre fare. Only when she pulls up the grass by her side in a thoughtless gesture of despair does she feel the twinges of death, a breath of relief. She looks at the world around her, green as far as the eye can see, and her laughter echoes through the trees.

The Heads of the Future - Grief:

She devours an entire forest, leaving nothing but blackened ground behind, having extracted every ounce of life to heal her body before she remembers her Minstrel. When she locates the boulder he was buried under, she frantically lifts it with the strength of an entire forest. Underneath, she finds only the greenest grass she has ever seen, and a single Iris blooms in the midst of it as she watches. The Pain of Grief is worse than anything she has ever known, and she screams, cries, sobs until she is spent, and falls asleep in the grass, dreaming of comfort in his arms. When she wakes, she rises and walks towards the east, leaving intact only the little patch in the midst of all the dark, crumbling carbon.

The Acumen:

Nothing lasts forever.

The Right and the Wrong:

The Right way will lead you to what you want, the Wrong way will charge you heavily for the same.

The Catch:

You might not get what you want, even after you have paid in full.

Gaia:

When half the Surface is scorched black, she wakes in pain. She realizes she has been weakened, that she is being robbed, that what is hers must be returned.

The Teller of the Fortunes:

When Gaia wakes, she feels the pain in her own bones. She gathers her tools and begins to move. The path she chose has kept her lithe and strong, and has taken little from her. She thinks that the time has come for her to become King, to undo what has been done, to make the choice with no expectation of thanks, to set herself apart as the saviour. The carefully formed dagger, forged from the blood and bones of Gaia herself; a present left for her to find, makes her sure that she has found the Right path.

The Bringer of Destruction, the Devourer:

She consumes huge forests without a thought, reduces the darkest jungles in the blink of an eye. It is getting harder to find green amidst the black.

The Teller of the Fortunes, the Avenger:

It has been a while since she saw the sky. Its color is of richest red, a single white pearl floating in it. She feels anger as she looks at the red and the black, she tells herself that this is Wrong, that she will make it Right. She tells Gaia too, but Gaia barely hears.

The Devourer, the Exhausted:

She has reached the end. There is no more of the green, nothing to sustain her. No more green except the single patch that she approaches with numb, weary feet. The one patch greener than ever in the midst of the black, where the single Iris blooms. She coughs, and she spits blood, but she cares no longer. Now she collapses into his arms once more, and decides that she has had enough, that it is time to give back what she has taken. She sleeps.

The Avenger, the Aggrieved:

She knows when she looks upon the sleeping figure, she realizes that her wait has been in vain, that she who started it has chosen to end it, and there was never any need for an Avenger in the Kingship. Horror. Anger. She looks at the peaceful figure once more, this time scrutinizing. So much power, power that the possessor did not even know how to use. Power that she could use, power that she deserved, and not this foolish being. It was not fair that this creature could wield the Kingship as she pleased, play with power she could not fathom. It was worse that she should not need anyone to stop her, that she should give up without a fight. Screams she to Gaia, you showed me I was in the Right, you have deceived me, lied to me. Says Gaia to she, you could have stopped it long ago, but you cared only for your own glory. But it is of no consequence anymore. When my power is returned to me, you shall help me nurture new life.

The Aggrieved, the Antagonist:

She desires recompense, praise. She got neither. She decides to settle for power instead, and snatches it away from the Surface as it drains from the Exhausted. Into herself she takes it, against the steady warnings of Gaia. Her knowledge forgotten, giddy with power, she dances, she laughs, she sings. Young and happy is she again.

The Acumen:

Gaia knows her children all to well, has known all along. But a mother will never refuse her child one last chance.

The Dagger of the Blood and Bones of Gaia:

It was always meant for one person, and one person alone. There is enough energy in the resting place of the Minstrel to deliver the killing blow.

The Aftermath:

Rich, dark blood flows into the Surface and is consumed without a trace. The Iris wilts at last. Gaia bathes herself in cleansing water, breaks her Surface apart so the scorch is washed deep into the depths. Under the pink Sky, she plants the spark of life in the Oceans that bubble and boil, and returns to her sleep. She will sleep long.

What it is:

Earth.