Disenthrall

Diabrotic

His mind was a storm, beautiful and angry. Always raging, always pouring. But storms are too destructive, So his storm was caged in a glass box. They had forgotten that all storms have an eye of calm. So close to freedom, but never close enough. Even then, they could not break him.

His tears were crystals, dazzling jewels that used to shine under the light in his eyes. But the light faded, and the crystals set, encasing his head in a constant shield. A shield that came with the price of a white padded room, where nothing could enter or exit his crystalline barrier. Not even he could escape from the prison within his own mind.

His blood was gold, glittering ichor dripping from his veins, showing to all his worth, his value. But showcasing your value creates greed, and because of that greed, the greed of humanity, too much gold was gifted, both voluntarily and involuntary. So they chained him, preventing him from slicing his own wrists, just to see beauty in himself for a change.

His mouth spun tapestries, such beautiful lies. Stories so vivid it was as if he sent his listeners beyond earth, weaving through starlight and running across new planets. But he was foolish, and took the wrong side, fell in love with what he was supposed to be against. Trapping himself, like the 'patients' in the very tower he worked for. Only looking out from the inside. He was not a 'patient', but he was a prisoner.

She was a fleeting moment, knowing the stories of our four, but never meeting them. Only seeing them, walking through their minds as they dreamt of when life was better, would be better. Perched on the top of the tower, looking down at this horrible prison, she fell. For them, for their freedom, she fell. But in her final seconds, her image and her last word was sent through the very beings of the others. And to them, her voice echoed;

'Disenthrall!'