And All Things Will End
The drum is your heartbeat. The pounding of your skull is the rythym. Your body is too tired. You fall down. The ground eagerly opens wide to welcome you, and rocks dive from their pulpits to crowd around you. May it be your grave.
Everything is uniform and dark. Your limbs are free again. A thought flutters from the outside into your skull with the wings of a black-hearted raven.
"Why do you keep your eyes?" It asks pointedly, as though it is stabbing through them.
It is right. You do not need them down here. They are worthless to you now. You will never leave. Tales from years past whisper into your ears, reminding you of the tale that, should you lose one sense, the others shall grow stronger in order to compensate. It makes sense to you.
You shudder. This seems far more vivid than the other dreams.
Everything is uniform and dark. Your limbs are free again. A thought flutters from the outside into your skull with the wings of a black-hearted raven.
"Why do you keep your eyes?" It asks pointedly, as though it is stabbing through them.
It is right. You do not need them down here. They are worthless to you now. You will never leave. Tales from years past whisper into your ears, reminding you of the tale that, should you lose one sense, the others shall grow stronger in order to compensate. It makes sense to you.
You shudder. This seems far more vivid than the other dreams.