[A piece of random paper was found in the Night Temple after the departure of its former residents.]

In the beginning, there was no Sun. The Night was all there was. The Sky was dark, veiled in black. Mourning. In Her wisdom, She saw that morning was nigh.
Then came the Sun. The Intruder. The Construction. And the Night turned into Day.
The Earth was then raised, and humans made. On their high thrones, the Gods laughed. They pulled souls out of emptiness, filled silence with voice. Myriad colours had they create, ephemeral longings that floated in the void. The Sky wept, raining Water. The Sky sighed, tears of heaven mingled with the Wind. From storm came Fire, emissary of the Sun, herald of science, the Shifting One that dooms and saves.

So the Stage was set, and the Audience ready.

From the Night they fell, children of sorrow, born to suffer. Onto the Stage they landed, actors in chains that sang and danced. To those that longed for the End, Death was denied. To those that clung to Life, Day was cut short.
The Watchers watch it all, and rejoice.
The Night feels it all, and in silence mourns.
The Gods gave birth; so the Night gave death. In Sleep She comforts, in Death She reclaims.
The Watchers judge and mock. The Night shall must forgives.
At the feet of mercy, malevolence’s fruit lie slain sleeping.

The Night will grant peace to all.

The Day has come, but the Day will pass. From the Night we came, to the Night we must shall return.
After the searing dusk, there will be Night.
Through Night, into Day. And through Day, into Night.
Salvation will come.

Then there will be nothing. Peace. Emptiness. Silence. Void.
No more suffering. No more comfort. No more sorrow. No more being.
The dead must die. The dead are dead. The dead are no more. This is mercy. This is right.

I will be free.
I will be free.
I will be free.
Forgive me.
I will be free.
I will be free, like