Dreams. My memories are fading in the rotten mist of my dreams. I once was, before the cycles, out of the cycles. But what was I? Where was I? Trying to catch those remnants is like trying to catch smoke with one's hand. I just have this feeling. Someone's i know of is walking this blasted lands. East from here. And i'm as afraid as i am thrilled to meet her, once again. A Muse, or a dellusion? I cling to her as my personnal light. And yet i shy away from meeting her, fed by a feeling of disaster. Yet. Inevitable is our meeting.
