I do profess i dreamt a dream; i do not wish to delve into great detail on the details nor intricacies of this, merely provide a metaphorical explanation so as to help you, the reader, better understand the emotion from which I write this.
For these fetters - crafted in the furnace; once the sturdiest material, made mailable by the warmth dwelling within, the next moment scorched by those same flames, enveloping me as the heat once did - are what bound me in this state. I fell victim to its beguiling roar, and i fear i lost more than that with which i began. Why even contemplating my confinement has robbed my lungs. I've opened the valves on the hideous beast in the corner. The steam has filled the room, settled around me. I cannot rise above it, these decussate links do not allow it. I must simply sit in this dense vapor, riding the rhythm of my weakened heart and straining lungs to clarity. This monster that hides beneath the fluctuating staircase. The glaring embers replace the shimmering crystals. And in this room, tethered by my own constructs, I solemnly find myself amongst my brothers on Cisthene; forever entombed by our own adventurous spirit, never fully aware of what lay at stake.
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