exilio by raor

You've been through exile: all prophecies are broken, never to be fulfilled. Mental emigration to the inner empire has warped the fabric of reality in a terrible and sacred tandava.

The eye of the storm has fallen, splattering viscously on the asphalt. A deep, internal tremor, an itching you can't scratch, tears away the remnants of your sleep. The once-clear path is now distorted. Your mind vainly tries to piece together the fragmented, fading mural of the Future. There is no form. Existence is shattered. Your hearing is inflamed. We descend deeper.

This is today: the loop of an unhappened miracle has closed. But can time, the executioner, become a healer? And if the chromosome of reality cannot heal you, then may it bring you oblivion.