The atmospherical depression resulted in a phase so calm, even the silence echoed. Flashbacks of inverted morality infiltrated my memories, corrupting my innocence. However this was all false hope, I realised my eyesight was just disengaged. Through sheer will power I regained control of my senses and began focusing on what I really was looking at. It was then I only realised the severity of the situation.
Just imagine the worst possible torture you could endure. The nightmare that becomes encrypted within your soul, representing itself as a symbiote of your former self. Visualising an incomprehensible sight, succumbing to its empowered features. Your eyesight focused, but your mind reverting to an absolute state of confusion. The song of pain being the only music you hear. The audacity of the sound crippling your empathy. Where bonfires agonisingly incinerate themselves to embers. The miasma of humans ashes assault your nervous system, propelling your senses into overload. Scorched ashes, marked on the earth. Ashes that defined once a living being. There's no reason to imagine anymore, I witnessed that insanity. When the nightmare stops, you hear only your conscience whispering. Moisture had been vaporised from the air leaving a dehydrated, dusty residue. The cornea of your eyes retreated and had dissolved into their disclosure, surrounded by, an ignited region of intense crimson.
Regardless, in this notion of calmness, I decided to reflect on what I had been involved in. Every situation I had been in was the effect of a very real cause, and here I was describing a painting that seemed alive, that grasped me in its depth, when realistically I was most probably hallucinating. I figured that every scenario was an illusion, a camouflaged mirage. The proposition had been executed methodically to perfection. Any other suggestive explanation became redundant. Yet I was intrigued by this, a lot of detail, clearly had been considered when creating all these distractions to evolve them in an attempt to match my current disposition, but the purpose for that was unclear. My mistake was to delve into this abstract mansion, reasonably not of my concern, nevertheless my knowledge of this place was still minimal and my conscience wouldn't let me leave. In the first instance, the door opening without a touch, as if inviting me in. It seemed to me I had a reason to be here, a reason that I hoped would drive me to unveil this mystery.
I noticed a translucent, vibrant vapour condensing like frost around me. Such simple actions of nature seemed like a reserved disclosure from my current situation, a moment to dream. The mist escorted me through a crippled archway to where the vapour seemed to reside. The vapour was naturally refreshing, as I inhaled it I felt energised. Just like venturing out on a winters day, subtly the cold temperature pleasantly shocks you. A glass cabinet was visible and it seemed to contain a booklet of some sort, however the glass was prominent, as though the vapour nurtured the cabinet, preserving the scripts contained in it. I unfastened the latch to access the scripts however a magnetic force prevented myself from lifting it. There must have been a vacuum present because after sliding the glass to uncover the scripts the compression of the cabinet caused the glass to crack. Two of the scripts shattered instantaneously to dust, they were also covering another of the scripts as though protecting it. A complimentary failsafe, a precaution you would find in a museum. Delicately, I prised open the first page but the ink powdered on touch. This same succession occurred for the first few pages until I located a letter written in illegible literature. There was a phrase written in Latin, it translated; "None feared the Apocalypse, they were just afraid to lose."
Sawdust had covered the ground of the room, as though someone had tried to drill between the wooden frames. A creaking noise was emerging from within the depths of the room, and with every step I took it felt like the floorboards underneath my feet were splintering and fracturing; without warning the insulation disintegrated and the entire room collapsed, bringing down a chandelier decorated with lighted candles. Surprisingly, I was unhurt, although that was almost traditional, and after the sawdust settled, I noticed the derelict script by the chandelier. Some of the pages had been torn out, this valuable information couldn't be lost, at any expense. There seemed to be some sort of removable panel located under the book, lifting the covering only proved to show complete darkness underneath.
I was consumed with nostalgia while the sweet, scented vapour of burning wood subdued my senses. Derelict wooden panels began splintering. Shards of cinder produced a cracking sound as they erupted from my surroundings. Almost instantly I seemed to be engulfed in flames. I realised I had no control, as this was not my domain. My life belonged to the spirits infused in the mansion, they condemned my destiny. I attempted to regain my balance as the floorboards began shifting with the earth. I had never felt so helpless before, I had no control of the situation. The desire to save myself had worn to dust as quickly as wood scorched to ashes. I suffered a relentless persecution from the persistent injustice of the inferno. My senses had numbed and my focus blurred. It felt like observing a fixed image of absolute mayhem.
