“Some day, aeons later, the one who has given all and lost all will at last find peace. Though it be a painful and twisted nirvana, it will be salvation for a soul of starlight, spirit of fire and heart of lightning.”
The Prophecy of Hajana, Book XVII of the Kianala.
Jade steered her chavy along the twisting forest path, unwinding to the strains of Meatloaf that gently hummed from the radio. Humming tonelessly, she slid from the smooth leather seat, reaching for her handbag. A cell phone and bunch of keys were produced, a manicured finger pressed down on the “lock” button and the bundle silently slipped into the pocket of a Chanel suit. Jade applied another layer of “Autumn Blush” lipstick, switching off the phone with her other hand. Both items were disposed of , the Armani bag slung over one shoulder. Wretched forest. Just because she was cutting it down, didn’t mean she had to inspect it. Jade muttered an unladylike word under her breath when she stunbled on a tree root, chipping the heel on her shoe. Then she saw the man. He was lying there on the floor, seemingly unaware of the rain pouring from his face, hair, clothes which clung to a skinny, underfed body. Old scars lined young hand, clutching the handle of a blood-soaked knife to his thin chest. The man was in a puddle of blood, tears flowing unchecked. Ripped jeans and hoodie, tattooed and pierced, he could have been any gang member from the big city. But there was something…more. Jade trembled like an aspen leaf in a gale, had he just killed? No, the thick veins in his wrists were slit cleanly. The woman turned the light body over, discarding her handbagand checking an erratic pulse. Large eyes, like rain-washed green glass shot with quicksilver light, fluttered open. They were filled with an extraordinary tenderness and sorrow, pain intensifying and enriching a heavenly loveliness. A faint smile danced on the soft, full lips, like the last summer rose, “Humans,” the man whispered, “claiming to be Nature’s children. They tear the metal from the earth’s bowels, deaf to its screams and loss.” His hand gripped the blade tightly, the incredible peace in his face filling Jade with serenity and grief. “What is your name?” she cried softly, unaccepting but resigned to fate. “Maglor,”escaped his parted lips as his last dying breath rippled through his body. the last son of Fëanor had found his painful nirvana, joy and sorrow mingling as one in his veins, hands held but loose as the danced one last time.
“And the people said, ‘He shall return, but for the sake of no living creature, merely because he loved life so.'”
The Prophecy of Hajana, Book XVII of the Kianala