Shadoria

You must be jesting, my dearest mortal. Not knowing the entrancing being of this magnificent darkness and night sky your wretched world is wrapped into, tiring those not capable of even understanding what beauties it brings with it, is impossible. I am the night, the dark, more than a god and the one who not just simply controls trillions, but rules them like a queen, them being a part of myself. Even in this degrading form of a canine, the graceful art that I bring with myself will not have itself insulted so easily and still shines through this mortal coil to leave those that look upon the night within it in awe. The coil's paws paint the ground I walk on dark, while that what you undignified creatures call tail, is a veil of black ink that carries within itself thousands of the ones that are generous enough to not leave you wandering in a pure darkness while my presence rests over the piece of dirt and frozen water you call your precious home, Mediran. Their light is the only hope you have of not being lost, and yet not many appreciate it. Only few groups of mortals see me as their queen. Their goddess. For others, I am the darkness that seeps through your heart, and so I am prayed to in hope this darkness will not come to them.

An adorable effort, yes. The fear I strike into the weak hearts and minds of your kind without them having any prove I exist is showing to everyone how fragile and easily manipulated they are. They feel safe in the light of my brother during the day, but their fate is already decided, for when the time has come for the all known evil to rise, I will be the blanket, my light falling down upon this pathetic world of yours, laying it to sleep once and for all. I will be the mercy it so desires after being tortured for thousands of years by mortals bringing their war into its very core. The celestial siblings have been created so they may protect the world, and so I will fulfill this duty by, one day, getting rid of the insects that crawl over it. It is becoming a real bother to wait for the day where everyone will accept the glorious beauty of my being. But luckily, in my all-seeing gaze, time is not as much of a burden as the other celestials that are created of the same might.

Our own creation is the only that is even worth mentioning without any degrading words. He may not carry the mark around his eye, like my mortal coil does around its left in the shape of a beautiful moon, allowing to gaze what stunning sight hides behind the layer of purple fur. Just like both ears are windows and wings are cut out of both sides. These wings are the blanket I told you about. My blanket. Our creation has none of these features, but is doing a respectful job by taking the life of those that are finally at their end. He does what I am prohibited to do, even if not as much grace as I would have wished it to be done.