[CONTENTID2]they call her, Misa... but Misa is not her name[/CONTENTID2][CONTENTID1]

Like a floating spectral, her footsteps are soundless. The product of small feet on big woman. She enters his room with a tray of neatly arranged syringes. The creaking door warns her bed-ridden patient of her approach.

He tries to form words with his mouth, perhaps a greeting, but only a pitiful whimper escapes him. His tongue had been skillfully carved out... so he may never speak a word that should not be spoken. His fingers had been crushed... so they may never attempt to convey that which should never be conveyed.

"I had given you kind warning, doctor. Your obsession with her will inevitably lead you... to this." Her stiff, white uniform and her stern, white face twist into a contortion... and she chuckles. "You think you can change her? You think you can change that little fiend? Doctor, you are in for a disappointment... she cannot be changed." The woman places the tray down by the bedside and lifts her eyes up to the ceiling. How low it looks from where she stands... but it will always be just beyond her reach. "They keep her here... because they hope... as you hope... hope beyond hope... that this place, this nightmare... will plant a new idea inside of her. But, do you know what I think? I think they are afraid of her... as are all of us here... as we should be. For when the Fire Goddess is released, they... they will know her wrath."

She looks down and selects a thin syringe filled with yellow fluid. "Shall I... shall I show you how merciful a fallen angel can be?"

And the light goes out. The light goes out of everything. Strength deserts life. The game is over. The game he plays with hopes and disappointments. It is over.

• • • • • • •

Sion.

With hands pressed against frosted glass, she waits anxiously. She waits for the day he opens his eyes and speaks her name. When she is free. Until then, she must be content with these visits. To meditate on his person. Her beloved Sion. Soul numb, mind asleep, body cased in ice. If only she is allowed to stay... to count down the very seconds to her freedom. She would.

But, they are afraid. Afraid of what she will do to precious Sion if she is allowed to stay for too long. Afraid of what lies dormit in the pit of her amber heart. No doubt, the source of all her madness.

Every evening, she visits him... comes to speak to him... comes to keep him company... comes to sing him a lullaby, shielding him from the chills of true death.

And, every evening, he responds to her. Like a corpse.

As the hour of his reawakening draws near, she notices strange things.

Misa. Misa. Misa.

They call her, Misa... but Misa is not her name. When did she begin to accept such a name as her own? 

Sion. Sion. Sion.

They call him, Sion... but Sion is not his name. His name. His name. His name. What is his name?

As the hour of his reawakening arrives, she recalls it... with pristine clarity, his name.

Jaejoong. Jaejoong. Jaejoong. The fallen hero of his demonic race.

And, who is she? Who has she been and always will be?

With hands pressed against frosted glass, she smiles a knowing smile. White flames the tip of her fingers most joyously. Her darlings have missed her terribly. They return now to remind her of her greatness.

Xinling. Xinling. Xinling. Goddess of Fire.

This asylum, this prison for the mind, this little white box... she will consume it with her flames, fueled by years of hatred.

The elder gods... the cowards who had dared to cast judgment upon her and imprison her in this box on top a hill... they are as good as dead.

Building life and legacy may be long and difficult...  but destroying them will be all too quick and easy.

[/CONTENTID1]