In a world of soul sucking fiends and judging sprites, I arrive afraid—with my haloed head held high, ready to doubt my every honest step. I am the princess of the in-between, and I wish to deserve all I haven't worked for.
There is an ever-present hum that gnaws at my instincts: a watchful set of eyes, unable to produce any sound, yet deafening in their expectancy. I wish for glowing pebbles to light my way, but it appears their mechanisms must be set off manually.
The phantom of endless possibilities is at it again, with its enveloping haze that makes limbs turn to lead—how can I be anything at all?
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