• The unfortunate lies on what can barely be described as a bench but a cold concrete block protruding from the hard empty walls of the dungeon chamber. She lies with eyes open to the dust in the damp suspended air staring at a nothingness vaster than the physical restriction that contains her. She is immobile, pale, well-fed but starving in mind and soul, in strength. She lies with the living curse that has slowly consumed her sanity. Judgment and conscience has long been cast out of the question for in insanity, nothing is what it seems. Sanity is one thing capable to withstand reality even without the aid of judgment for it is easier for a dumb man to live through the odds by yielding to his human instincts than an intellectual of high criticality and abilities that question the laws of nature to survive the simplest of all circumstances. But in insanity, every possible aspect of reason, no matter how accurate it may seem, is interpreted by the mind in such a way as it deviates from its original concept. In insanity, judgment itself is insane.

    Before her eyes are not the bars of the suffocating chamber but the flashes of death, and blood, and gore. Each tale of murder untold has been known to her and to her alone. Each drop of blood, the very blinding sight of the metals clanging and slashing and wounding bodies not of her own but of each man, woman, and child born to the fallen city of the great walls. Each inevitable farewell, even that of her own, is thrown upon her heart, and becomes a burden too gigantic to ever resist. As gigantic as the sun that envelopes her not with warmth but with raging fury. Each blissful ray scorns her mind and never endlessly penetrates into her the curse of the persisting knowledge of the painful truth. For what else could torment a soul but to possess great knowledge of the most gruesome events and be powerless. If knowledge is truly power, then power bestowed is a curse.

    Surrounded she is by the wails of the burning souls and deterioration of the melting flesh. Her eyes and ears once cleansed of the impurities of modified nature by the snakes - bearers of the gods - have turned dry and sore. She has become the ghost amongst the wraths of all the gods; the sole witness to their jealousy, selfishness, and vanity. All these punishment for one justified rejection. For one of the many divine yet earthly loves that crushed the hearts of all the mightiest, bravest, and most beautiful pawns in the Olympian theatre.

    All her words heard but unheeded fill the air with sorrow and agony - a helpless power roaming in the bloody air within and beyond the great stone walls. Her end and that of everything she opened her eyes unto is written not by a god-forsaken fate but a god-commanded one. And her eyes alone have been given the sinister privilege of reading the sacred scrolls word for word. But alas, what enters her mind has no way to get out of her body, for her tongue is cursed by the wounded Apollo - each word of knowledge is to be spoken in vain; and the burden of truth that continuously fills her bosom shall never be purged.

    Within this prison into which her kin has deposited her, she hears the whispers of every single elemental creature made by the gods to challenge mere human minds. And she sinks, no longer drowning, for her fate has slowly slid down her throat though with great resistance. She has no power but the truth, the truth that was born to be ignored. As she sees the walls of the great kingdom fall down to ashes, as she feels herself violated by the savage heroes, as she sees herself walk into an apparent new home (that would soon crash into her grave with a strike of a hand) in a strange land, she swallows her destiny with a heart torn apart but one that would finally be free... and a soul immortal to the earth-bound power of the foolish celestial highness.