A riddle for book 2.

As the veils of order relinquish hope, of frowns, conviction, lust a dance; conceding defeat for the beauty of despair, the Vildarii three bask in the delicate gaze of life; and all shall embrace the gift of a trail, that which was derived from the nothingness; for all that was has known no creator, blessed with but only fleeting vessels, and what is with no beginning nor end, the skies sing of disdain for the Gods' mortal sigh, as they await with open arms for the mercy that is obscurity.