Nascent plans like vapours have drifted long and far, coalescing with the steadied care of tempered ambition. The subtle discourse of gentle zephyrs has gathered these cottony plots, machinations wafting together on the breeze, slowly building to a furious storm head.
And now, now my surging multitude, my scurrying masses, the obstructions before me have evaporated, carrying me ever upwards in their wake. Here I float, above the modest earth, higher than the greediest mountain's peak. With all the boundless power at my stead, I look down on your piteous works and know that I am now forever beyond you. My laughter is the peal of thunder on the wind.
Cast your eyes skyward and know that your heavens were a lie. This world and everything in it is mine at last. Judgement is at hand. The tides of sorrow will wash upon your luckless shore.
Do you feel that? That cold, all-pervasive damp? That is the wild tempest of unending tears on which I soar. My reign has come at last.