The unutterable dark rankles within. Self-censure is my mantra. I wage war with a phantom knight who deigns to tear down this empire of stillness I have built. A fortress built from white ash. Whatever is left after cycles upon cycles of razed sentiments. What wounds this unknown knight inflicts does not terrify me. Oh but it hurts. It hurts.
Allow me this reprieve: My heart shivers still. And it always will when visions prey on my mind. But the spell is broken regardless. So I walk the halls of my fortress of ashes.