Vampires, werewolves and beasts of legend fall before him. His hands protect the weak, a guardian banishing the monsters of madness, separating the realms of reality and dream. He is happy for a time.
Then piece by piece he forgets, as his power grows so does the price. The green gates no longer open. For power he has sacrificed his dreams and without the drug of imagination his eyes open. A candid catharsis breaks him.
The truth is at long last revealed. His eyes are white, blood drips from his hands. He discerns his faceless self for what he truly is – a monster.
No matter how much it is denied, reality remains unchanged. People are their own monsters. They are the ones who create killers and dreamers alike. The guardian is no hero, just a reaper, who has traded everything for power, death given form, by a false god.
The shattered mirror shreds his hand, yet he feels no pain. All new emotions dissolve. Regret and redemption have been denied. The perfect monster cries, for the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Innocence defies corruption, yet gives birth to more corruption.
His tears have dried, disappeared forever. His hand caresses her soft skin. He bows down and their lips touch. The flare within his chest smolders.
With a kiss the reaper takes two lives.