When the light flickers out, and all the souls converge, it’s time for the bells to sing.

At last I am seen, I am made of paper and dust, but I am here, I am real.

What is real, what is fiction - nothing but words hiding behind the truth:

That nothing is real,

everything is fiction.

That everything is real

nothing is fiction.

How much do you believe?

How much do you trust your eyes, your instincts?

Fire and rust flow through my veins - some call me a monster, others an angel, God, devil, but never human - no, never human.

What is more human than being different and shunned for it, scorned?

It matters not, I am here now, and the world will never be the same again.