They call him 'corrupted', associate evil to his name and give darkness his appearance - 'he's fallen', they say. Betrayal and deceit are the children of his faith, marks of his descent. He thinks he doesn't miss his gilded cage - eyes glinting black - for he gained freedom in his fall. He wanders now - the sole constant of his present - his own condition urging, driven by the obscure hunger of the empty, beacon to the lost ones. He cringes in disdain at their proximity - the feeble ones among whom he has to dwell, but keeps on his unattended path, arrestingly aloof - undeterred. He cares nothing for their petty wars and wounds of flesh; they bleed and cry - they die - only to rise again under different guises - unmistakably flawed, painfully fragile - prone to love, crude. Tainted mirror to their distorted existence, misplaced among desires convoluted and smiles twisted in malice, he asks for oblivion. He is denied forgiveness.