There was a storm, and the sky looked to be on fire. Bright lightning and thunder crackled through the air, and the mage’s hair seemed to be made of lightning.

Lightning and a black void - much like his eyes. 

A black, merciless void.

May you never prosper

may you never live in peace

may you always lose each other

may you always weep

may you always leave or be left,

may you always forget or be forgotten.

If you choose to have a loophole

(I must confess I cannot see you use it)

listen, listen well:

Until you let each other go

(until you let me in)

This is my premonition

lasting until the end of time itself

while magic still exists

this is my promise, my condition

my words

my poison, my curse.