This is a [fiction]. A story, an untrue tale told around a fire. A legend, aged by time and words.
Where are legends born? In the heart of truths seen by those who no one saw standing at the scene of a crime never known. This is a fiction. Not because of the words that it holds. But because of the number of people who have used those words over the recess of time. This is a fiction. Because it was a legend. And now it's lost its truth. Translation; this is not a fiction at all.
My name is Lona. Just Lona. Someone considerd by many to be wise once told me never to start a story with your name. Well, this isnt my name. This is the name people have called me. I have been given this name. But it is not mine. Therefore, I am not starting my story with my name. My name is Lona. Just Lona.
Look back in time. To the stories untold. The things that history forgott. People considerd unreal. Look, at the shadows on the page. Look at the emptiness of a forgotten age. This is a younge world. Considerd to be ancient because of a childlike people who worship the lies they are told. Truth causes death, so they do not tell it. Ignoring the simple fact, the only way to find the Light of their world, is to start at the beginning of truth. And to find that. You must find all the lies taught in the history that isn't. This is a riddle. And I am its teller. Teach me somthing.
I was born in the year 220 of the New Era, called A.D by the human's. The New Era of Salvation. The After of a Saviors death. Choose not to listen. To a truth you dare not to hear. Run crying into your comfortable lies. They'll carry you to your firy grave. Keep reading.
My name is Lona, and this is not a fiction. I was born in 220. These are the facts. I was told that history is fact. solid and grounded. This I know to be a lie. I have not told that lie. This is also a fact. Today is 2011 N.E. called A.D. by humans. I am alive, I am well. And I am tired of breathing. So this is my story. Of a life never told. Of a fact called a fiction. Of a history, that never made it to the book.
This is my story. My name is not Lona, and I am very, very old. My Mother's name was Rhiaonalii Greagtri. Her brother was Merlovan Greagtri. Can you guess their legend?
On the eve of Valhalla, in the hour of Stars. I was born, to the Queen Rhiaonalii. With my twin brother. Called Nylo by all who loved him. And Prince to everyone who never knew him.
My name is Lona. But the given name of a girlchild lost, was Avilonia Vana Greagtri. And I was stolen, on the day of my third birthday. I was stolen. And Van's prophesy was made. And the darkness shreaks, drowned by the agony, the sorrow of a queen.
The queen of a land forgotten by time. That birthed legends and monsters. Nightmares and terrors. This is not a fiction. And My name is not Lona. But this is my story, told on a day unremarkable.
This is the end of my riddle. Tell me; do you understand?