In the beginning there was the song, and the song was all things. It was given to the creations, so that all may create as they too had been created.
How then, did things go so wrong?
It all started when we began to distinguish some songs as more pure, more pleasing to the creator. Some were particularly gifted in the song, and as such must be that much more beautiful of a song to be sung.
Such songs as these should be revered, taught, spread throughout the lands! All must hear the true songs of the high priests, for they are the songs closest to our creator.
If there are such magnificent songs, how then can we condone the singing of rabble and misfits? Do they not screech upon our creators ears? Are they not vile and detestable things?
The high priests began to audit us, sending inquisitors into our homes to test us in the song and see whether or not we were worthy of it. Many were not, and I stayed silent. Surely we were doing good by purifying the song for the creator.
They began to cast those unworthy into jails and prisons, locked away from the world for their lack of proper song. Again I stayed silent.
Next, the executions started. Any who dared sing a vile song was put to the headsmen, and again I said nothing. I watched my townsmen die, and still I told myself that this was right. This was just. The priests surely knew the true will of the creator.
Then it began. The inquisition. The high priests declared all peoples of the song to be unworthy of it, and to be put to death. I looked around for someone, anyone that would help, but they were all gone. In the end no one was left to speak for me, for I had done nothing and watched them all die.
Pity me, the fool who believed that our creators will would have ever allowed such a monstrosity to lead us, that being shrouded in the night. It is by him that we will all meet our doom, and after what I have allowed to pass I can only believe that I deserve all of this in the end.