[i]Twilight, The Final Threshold[/i]

As weary children lay their heads to rest, the events of the day finally taking their toll, the family gathers round, for it is the nightly story-time, that which even the oldest of children cherish almost as much as life itself. The stories do tend to differ, based on location, and the family at hand, but none of these are more popular than the tale of Twilight, The Final Threshold. A story passed on from parent to child, and widespread throughout all of Interitus, so famous is it. The tale runs as such:
When the sun still rose throughout the land, and darkness had yet to cover every corner, there came an hour of the day, known quite literally as the hour of magic. It is a time where no matter in what part of the world you are in, with but a step, and a breath, you can find yourself now at the crossroads, as Venaiv, the Broken Prince, once was.
A saddened soul, from a world far from ours, but similar all the while. Venaiv was a youth, much like yourself child, who believed himself to be the key to all things. He never wanted for food, nor money, nor shelter, everything was presented to him, as he felt he naturally deserved. However, because fo this, Venaiv never learned to grow weary, never learned to trust beyond that of what his eyes could show to him.
One day, as this poor soul was traversing home from school, a fanciful place in the other world that only the elite could gain entrance to, he decided to take a shortcut on his path home. Instead of the usual focus, he took the the alleys, often known for holding villains and criminals of all types. Yet Venaiv, as confident as he was, thought himself so far above, that he simply did not care.
So the youth walked, his every step striding forward. Little did our Venaiv know, however, but the Twilight Hour, was soon upon him, and his world as a whole. And as he strode throughout the alley, a glimmer of light caught his eye, as it was uncovered by the encroaching darkness. He gazed towards it, thinking it a shiny treasure to claim as his own, bent down, and fell. His body tilting over, driving him through this glowing rift, this threshold of Twilight's Hour. Gone, to the crossroads, from where none can ever return.
But, if only poor Venaiv had thought to look around. If only he had instead saw the dark red eyes of Di'Arragio hiding in the corner, ready, waiting. If only he had been ready, for the fall.