Um..okay. Before you ask, I don't know. I was inspired to write this one-shot by an idea for a full novel I had. Let me know if you want to see more of it, and I'll try working on it. Don't as what's up with my writing here. It's late, I'm tired, and I went crazy with my descriptive language. So...read it. Bye.

The Phoenix's Place

There is a place. An old place, a nice place. This is a place where all is well for the moment, where the sun's light is soft and brotherly, and an old bird can think about a life of fire and ash.

This is a nice place. It is not a bad place. Far from that, this lovely, beautiful, striking place. Yet here he can sit and think, and all he can see in this place is the blood. It seeps over his silvery claws. It runs down his scarlet face. This nice place. It is bathed in the blood of many battles, shadowed by a past of murder and betrayal. This place. What a very nice, lovely place it is.

Here he thinks of what he has done. The phoenix, you see, has done many things. He has gone many places, flown on many winds. Child of magic. Child of life. Son of the crackling fire and heir of the sun. He is vibrant and beautiful. His handsome face is prouder than any cock's, and his claws are sharper than any eagle's. Noble and high. What a most wonderful bird the phoenix is!

Wonderful. What a wonderful place this bird is in.

The phoenix has seen many things here. Here is where he has risen, died, and risen again. Here is where he has sung, he has fought for justice, he has killed for justice, and he has killed for greed.

There is a certain...price that comes with being the phoenix. Yes, the phoenix deduced this so many years ago. There is a certain...fire that is lost. Here he has risen. Here he has died. He has sung. He has fought. What comes of this rising? The phoenix doesn't know. The phoenix has lost so much. He has given up the life of a mortal, the hopes of a life destined for death. What does the phoenix have to look forward to? More misery. More deaths that do not end. And immortal's life, in the phoenix's eyes, is nothing...nothing that any living beast would care for.

Here he rests his wings. They are no longer scarlet and high in his eyes. Heavy and gray, they drag him down. Here he cries his tears of crimson blood. Blood of his veins or of those he has killed? The phoenix can't know. There are many things that souls cannot know.

He is dying. The phoenix is dying, but the phoenix will rise.

Rise!

How much smaller could life be, how much more pathetic? He spits upon the concept of his own rebirth. He is empty. He is alone. Alone and empty in this very good world. What a sad fate for the phoenix, fiery and proud.

This place...this place. It is warm and welcoming. True, this place is bloodstained and dark. True, it is where many have died and wept. Colorful and gray. The perfect place for the phoenix.

The sun is now setting. It's light fades, darkening his withered form. His golden eyes are dry now, tired at last while his heart crumples further. Broken among the branches of a bright tree, he is hidden from a world of deceitful goodness by hatred and a shadow.

Yet the sun is still there. It is fading, disappearing fast. Yet it will come tomorrow, Phoenix. It will return, Child of Magic, Child of Life.

It will return.

The phoenix will rise.

Remember to tell me if you want more!