Aurora Consurgens: something on the net

Found on a posting board by Anonymous, who is just a trifle more reliable than Wikipedia ...

The secret histories of the world are that: they do not end up on any page, often not in any memory. They are the purged records, the fires, but even ashes leave things before, and nothing is entirely forgot. Ghost memories, echoes, hunches and fragments of dreams remain when all else is dust and forgot even by legend. For instance, to mention the Terrible King by any title would see this vanish off the internet, and the writer from the world. Secrets. Lies. Necessary, perhaps, but still lies, and bitter as they go down.

We change the world, the secret warriors, fighting wars you will never know about, stopping the darkness because someone has to, because it is necessary and the price of knowledge is power, and the price of power is the obligation to use it. We fight the secret wars, and our comings and goings are unknown, sometimes forgot even by ourselves, so secret are the wars. Hexton is merely a word, now. Where is truth to be found, if we bury it so deep that nothing can drawn it forth into the world?

There is no reward. There can be no reward, for this. If people realize what goes on behind the stage, those who set it up have failed. I know this. We know that. And yet. And yet, the silence that folllows is so deep we wish to fill it with action, with words and names and meaning. And that is why we all fail, all those secret groups and terrible conspiracies without name, because the lure of the world pulls at us, and the desire to be More tugs at us all. And there are so very, very few who can resist such temptations, who can be given power that makes the world a toy to them and not then play with it, sometimes just to see what happens.

Five years ago, the oldest and deepest of the conspiracies, hidden behind the name of Illuminati, published and known to hide it further still, flattered. Fell. Even ideals only carry one so far, and the urge to act is always a deep, terrible thing. We are never done with doing, for all we wish we were.