Hovering juxtapose the aftermath, her frame denoted the epoch past. Her eyes strained against the light. Her voice became , like the trumpets 

from Angels, as she equated the new minutes. She brought forth the new minutes of time into being what we had all been superimposing our fears into , and formulating our hopes around.

The next part of the tragedy was breathing among us. 

Her blood stained hands reached down , out towards the Youth. She held special strength for the Youth. She knew of the manipulations that had cornered them in. The hearts of many whispered to her throughout the noise.

Nothing could be touched from what we knew before, but there was grace in it all. 

There was a wind of some supernatural hope that blew around her, as she rose up from the carnage. I felt it on my face. 

Some things inside of me grew enraged with the pity I held for myself, and I knew I would learn to fight for what had survived. Even if I could not decide where the absolute truth could be found,

I felt that I knew truth. I was scoured by a truth that claimed no definition. I was marked by the lasting truth, and I burned to represent it.

Others would one day see that we all contained the truth. If we stood as parts of the after, we each contained the truth. 

She wrote it in the sky, at the end, for the beginning. She wrote it in the sky for the Youth, and for the damned, and for all of the time held fears.

Blazing in the haze of too many deaths from destruction , caught up on too many souls flight into the heavens ; She wrote it in the sky to set them free. We all could be free. That was the truth. I recognized it as I stood there free again in that moment of repose.

She wrote it in the sky ,

Somnium Aetas . . .

All , in time, was set free.