I recognize this dim place. This untasteful shade. Comfortably unsoothing. Anything but this cold silence is too irratable to bear. Any outside beacon is no longer welcome, or so existence here coaxes me to believe.
How did I end up here again? I recognize this air all too well. The lack of warmth, whether visually or tactily. How did I end up here again?
And with such a place that lacks love and light, how else can a being pry to exist? There is nothing else that can harvest warmth. Nothing but that one thing.
Wrath.
What’s left of me is doing all it can to fight that memory of me. My being is still in denial of itself. And yet my being knows that these shadows must eventually dance.
The music blares. The beat all too seductive in this still darkness.
It’s only tics and tocs before these shadows make themselves known.
Keep me safe, dear Goddess. Please.
I recognize this all too well.
Diaries of the Moonlight Hours 