Veeci
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Toa (11/293)
About Me
My head is splitting, eternally pounding, and relentlessly in an osmium-laden haze. What are these shadows and murmurs in the distance? Straining for but a moment of clarity, but theres only static, monotonous, numbing, droning static. Theres no true rest, only brief glimpses, moments where I can discern whats actually real. Theyre not a blessing, but a curse, giving hope, giving a relative perspective to this void. Theyre taunting. It hasnt always been this way; it has been ever-growing worse. My anchors to reality are dragging on the ocean floor of truth, slipping, losing grasp. But how can I concede to this fate? Some deep, tenatious, or perhaps desperate part of my soul longs for the return of the past, the sun lit plains of Valhalla. What have I done to deserve this fate, to be roped into the asylum of the insane and lost. Im beginning to fall, fall to a point where I fear I may never recover. The event horizon is in view. Static.