𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐀 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈)

‎To the north of Mount Promathus, in the world known as Utopia—a land governed by Athena and the people from her realm, Athenaea—lies a mystical place, known yet unknown to many in Utopia itself. Yggdrasil: a myth of a place, a fantasy sung again and again across the long passage of time by long-lived races, like a faraway home one is venturing from; a myth born from the song of a person himself. For a living being in Utopia itself, where gods roam the lands as a normality, one is deprived of the ability to differentiate that deprivation in honesty—a simple honesty of life that flows naturally in the world known as Utopia.

 Abrivation. ‎Ah... I heard my own voice reasoning a thought unknown, yet I knew it by a known emotion, with the full understanding that it was myself. Yet, I was still unable to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was not able to understand; yet I knew it by a known emotion, with the full understanding that it was myself.

‎All I knew was that heavy snow was falling wherever I was, while I felt my presence—still unable to see myself despite the presence I felt while being fully aware of it. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. Yet, I was still unable to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was not able to understand. While I still knew naturality by nature, reality was still flowing without assumption or presumption based on that assumption. ‎Naturality, by the calm flow of the passage of time that simply flows good by nature—snow fall, still silence, calm wind, harsh wind, rain. While in between, the self-voice I was aware was self-reasoning, memories also started to accompany it. While I was in a dazed state, neither aware whether I was awake, dreaming,

‎or asleep, as with self-reason, many voices started accompanying it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there was Neither way for me to be aware. Silent ones, loud ones, cheerful ones, and scary ones. A fear, happiness, sadness, dreadfulness, calmness, drunk emotion, high emotion, ecstatic one, but never in a hurry by any emotions' agitation; that always was accompanied with patience and a calm demeanor in mind till the vision got blurry as eyes were opened for me to see the first light. ‎It was hot weather, neither hot nor cold, good enough to enjoy the cold wind that was blowing good by the warmth in the nature of the weather. The presence that I felt was the same as before; a vision I was aware of by that one which got blurry before this one. ‎Aware I was of the presence all the same, but with it, my own body was hard to adjust to. While still being good by it, it was hard to differentiate the size I was aware of. ‎As with it, I closed my eyes and fell asleep after a long while. ‎Ah, I think I knew I went to sleep. 

‎Months passed by in a very calm, silent, and peaceful place I familiarised myself with during the cold wind of autumn, while I was laid outside the house beside a garden by a woman who seemed to be a mother. ‎While in a dazed state where visions kept on returning, whether I was awake or asleep,unable to differentiate whether I was asleep or awake. ‎As I was captivated by the view surrounding the place, as far as my eyes could reach was covered in a void of mountains; at the north edges of the void was situated the place where I was born. ‎I knew it by the reality I was in, nor was there the possibility for me to be aware of the information I had.

‎For I still knew, as a child, what would have been normalcy for the place I was in. It would be silence, not the madness the vision had been depriving me of for the past few months. ‎Neither could I tell the difference—was that reality or a dream? As I sat next to the child-me that was laying on the ground of the garden outside a house, the weather changed to falling snow, different from the autumn season from before where a cold wind was blowing. ‎While the madness was calm, I was aware of where I stood; from there, it is a long-past time that is still to come.

‎As I took out tobacco leaves rolled like a cigarette out of a stash jar from my pocket, I put one in my mouth. While holding the jar in my left hand, a small mana stone attached to it lit the cigarette by itself.

‎While smoking in the quiet silence of the snowfall, I heard the noises of a child screaming in pleasure. Curious about the loud shout, I stood up from the ground next to where I was sitting beside the child-me, who was still in a dazed state, asleep.

‎People were going on with life the same as before while I wandered around the place until I got to the source of the noise: it was a monk of the Three-Eyed Gods religion—the only God whom I believed in who was fucking a child.

‎A moment later, my vision again got blurry. I woke up, still laying on the ground where I had been laid. ‎The vision was still all the same—the madness depriving me of reality. ‎Respect by reality it was before, respect by reality it still is, in that hell of a vision, I knew that while I looked towards the mountain ahead, unable to fully remember the memories I had before.

‎Leaves fell while winds grew colder and colder, or it might have been the atmosphere turning cold. One thing with certainty was that it was more silent than ever, and a fascination for emotion—a longing—grew with the fall of each aged petal leaf. ‎In disturbance, it was a self-voice that was completely lost at that point, unable to differentiate when I heard it, as I knew it before, as I knew it then, as I knew it still when I was self-reasoning, and when that voice, which still belonged to me, but still it wasn't me. ‎To know the differentiation between both was to tell even if I was sane in the madness those visions were depriving me of towards basics of reality I was aware of; to tell the differentiation was the basics for me to question whether I was awake or asleep, unable to differentiate whether I was asleep or awake.

‎Neither could I tell the difference—was that reality or a dream? ‎With it, a fascination for emotion—a longing—grew with the fall of each aged petal leaf. ‎acknowledgement; for fascination was love for another—a woman that can soothe that madness of vision. Self was, for some reason, still not delusional in madness, to only keep that as a fascination by self, not as an acknowledgement to search for it in reality.With the silence growing quieter and quieter, and the atmosphere turning colder, it was hard to tell whether it was the wind that was growing colder, or the body was attuned to the atmosphere turning colder, to tell the difference how cold that wind tends to be. ‎In the silver-cold weather of winter, the sky was filled with silver clouds. As it started to wrap the void of mountains with silver clouds, snow started to fall heavily, while the silence of the snowfall drowned with its heavy fall.

‎While I was being carried on her back by a mother as she sang a song while strolling in the garden in circles, I was lost in fascination for emotion—a longing—as voice of self-reason from a vision that came before started with it. Voices started accompanying it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there was neither way for me to be aware. ‎The only difference: a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. Yet, I was still unable to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was not able to understand.

‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎Voices still followed a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. ‎I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎Before, it was a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. Yet, I was still unable to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was not able to understand.

‎I knew in that madness of vision a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎That slowly I was forgetting that. ‎Whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision itself from before, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. Yet, I was still unable to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was not able to understand.

‎While in a dazed state where visions still kept on returning, whether I was awake or asleep, I was unable to differentiate whether I was asleep or awake. ‎Voices still followed a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎With fascination for emotion—a longing—a vision that followed it, I was in a dazed state until this moment, since the fascination for emotion—a longing—grew with the fall of each aged petal. ‎A song sung by mother, a view I was captivated by with silver clouds as it started to wrap the void of mountains with silver clouds, snow that fell heavily while the silence of the snowfall drowned with its heavy fall. Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎A story before birth in itself, of a circle of life that followed along with a fascination that was with love for another—a woman that can soothe that madness of vision. ‎That woman being the queen that the vision defined, a person by the emotions and fascination. entity in the vision that got defined as the source of fascination that was with love for another—a woman that can soothe that madness of vision, belonging but to a king I was familiar with as a person. ‎The gods of creation place I wandered into by pure madness, voices still accompanying it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎A circle of life being such to be respectful towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation in their chambers to be respectful towards. ‎One being the gods of creation, a differentiation from respect by reality it was before, respect by reality it still is.

‎Respect that was born of voices that still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎By the naturality of it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎I still acted in some ways to be insolent enough while fully knowing the way it was defined, and still acting familiar towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation.

‎Even with the given situation, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎Madness of hell I wandered around before being in their chamber, such that I fully understood the respect that was born of voices that still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎I still acted in some ways to be insolent enough while fully knowing the way it was defined, and still acting familiar towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation. ‎While I was being fully aware, it was still me.

‎The story was as such: gods of creation were defined as such, their chambers being the beginning for one to circle around once again in life. ‎But them defining the place of birth and life in itself before the beginning or ending itself each time, based on the individual, and themselves in itself being the individual among it.

‎I still acted in some ways to be insolent enough while fully knowing the way it was defined, and still acting familiar towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation. ‎While I was being fully aware, it was still me.

‎Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was

‎reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎The king was generous enough, despite being the gods of creation that were defined as such, their chambers being the beginning for one to circle around once again in life.

‎But them defining the place of birth and life in itself before the beginning or ending itself each time, based on the individual, and themselves in itself being the individual among it. ‎A circle of life being such to be respectful towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation in their chambers to be respectful towards.

‎One being the gods of creation, a differentiation from respect by reality it was before, respect by reality it still is. ‎Respect that was born of voices that still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎By the naturality of it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎Generous enough to hand his queen for the life that they defined even after I still acted in some ways to be insolent enough while fully knowing the way it was defined, and still acting familiar towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation. ‎While I was being fully aware, it was still me.

‎For me to create my own circle of life with the Queen as a person that I feel good by, me to be defined as a circle of life. And for some reason, I already knew myself as being that person before the madness of hell I wandered around before being in their chamber, such that I fully understood the respect that was born of voices that still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎A story before birth in itself, of a circle of life that followed along with a fascination that was with love for another—a woman that can soothe that madness of vision. ‎That woman being the queen that the vision defined, a person by the emotions and fascination entity in the vision that got defined as the source of fascination that was with love for another—a woman that can soothe that madness of vision, belonging but to a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation.

‎Of fascination that was with love for another—a woman. ‎With love for another—a woman that can soothe that madness of vision, belonging but to a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation.

‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎Entity in vision that got defined as source. As the Queen led me from the chambers after the decision of the king to tell me as such, in a place I was well-familiar with her from, it being the memory repeating all the same again—me having forgotten it altogether for me to create my own circle of life with the Queen as a person that I feel good by, me to be defined as a circle of life. And for some reason, I already knew myself as being that person before the madness of hell I wandered around before being in their chamber, such that I fully understood the respect that was born of voices that still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎The story this life was still defined by was as such: gods of creation were defined as such, their chambers being the beginning for one to circle around once again in life. ‎But them defining the place of birth and life in itself before the beginning or ending itself each time, based on the individual, and themselves in itself being the individual among it.

‎I still acted in some ways to be insolent enough while fully knowing the way it was defined, and still acting familiar towards a king I was familiar with as a person, the gods of creation. ‎For me to create my own circle of life with the Queen as a person that I feel good by, me to be defined as a circle of life. And for some reason, I already knew myself as being that person before the madness of hell I wandered around before being in their chamber, such that I fully understood the respect that was born of voices that still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎With fascination for emotion—a longing—a vision that followed it, I was in a dazed, dazed state until this movement, since the fascination for emotion—a longing—grew with the fall of each aged petal leaf. ‎A song sung by mother, a view I was captivated by with silver clouds as it started to wrap the void of mountains with silver clouds, snow that fell heavily while the silence of the snowfall drowned with its heavy fall. Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎With fascination for emotion—a longing—a vision that followed it, I was in a dazed, dazed state until this movement, since the fascination for emotion—a longing—grew with the fall of each aged petal leaf.

‎A song sung by mother, a view I was captivated by with silver clouds as it started to wrap the void of mountains with silver clouds, snow that fell heavily while the silence of the snowfall drowned with its heavy fall. Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎A self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎In the silver-cold weather of winter, in a dazed state as I looked up at the sky that was filled with silver clouds, as it started to wrap the void of mountains with silver clouds, snow started to fall heavily, while the silence of the snowfall drowned with its heavy fall.

‎While I was being carried on her back by a mother as she sang a song while strolling in the garden in circles, I was lost in fascination for emotion—a longing—as voices of self-reason from a vision that came before started with it. Voices started accompanying it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there was neither way for me to be aware. ‎"You fucking cannibal, I am not into cuckolding." ‎I heard the voice of the king from my right side as he walked alongside the mother who was circling the garden in circles while still carrying me on her back, while me being lost in that weird emotion with his presence—that weird emotion all the more so being simplified.

‎"Be aware of the whore who has fascination with that weird emotion." ‎As he disappeared along his footsteps, I saw the  ‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware. ‎Where only that much small difference made a whole difference, while the result being all the same in the vision I was aware of. The life that I knew, differentiated between reality and dream—all the difference that vision made was the king was not the god of creation. Life inside the vision was defined by familiarity for me to know the small difference: that it was self-defined by the mind in a way for myself to know that was a dream, and reality I knew by life was not defined by the actuality that weird emotions defined.

‎Only a small difference: self was with the understanding of the king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion. Some god who has fascination with that just tends to rejoice a life by that fascination; a whore, as I said, one should be aware of who had that fascination. ‎Because that small difference worked, and it still would have worked if not for me being the person who was already ‎familiar with it.

‎‎As for the dream in the vision I defined by the religion of the Three-Eyed God, it seems despite the world being different, there seems, when enough people gather to follow a single person with full conviction and the command of a person, there tends to be a need for the person himself, who, despite being the same as everyone, needs to take a mantle justifying himself as different from all the others. For the person is defined as the one who leads them, for conviction towards the person being sincere and faithful by life, for him to get defined as a living God—a mantle that one takes to differentiate himself as a god of three eyes, one none can doubt, one none can understand what that God at the end gets defined as. Thus, the respect by reality the life flows by, respect by life still would follow by.

‎A perfect way to define a dream that differentiated that much from reality, and the only god one can believe in and never be presumptuous or have assumptions to define as self, or question whether one was real or not. ‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.

‎Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there was no way for me to be aware of whether I was still in reality. Yet, within the vision of life provided by my own memories, I knew the difference between a memory, a dream, and a vision as my eyes started to get blurry. ‎After circling around, as Mother headed inside the house when the snow started to pile up, the surroundings became covered in a silver fog.

‎There was no way to know if the void of mountains that usually surrounded the place was still there or not, while snow fell outside that I was fully aware of.As I saw the ageless, immortal woman in a silver, almost white, ethereal hooded shroud gown along that path inside the house, I saw my former self appear again alongside me in silence. ‎Ah, I felt no necessity to be calm enough to calm the madness. ‎What is so bad in life to fascinate another, ‎in such a way there to be even good with self-ridiculousness by that person? 

‎That is mind as she tends to be defined in there. ‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. ‎Voices still accompanied it—whether it was memories, a dream, or a vision, there being neither way for me to be aware.

‎Snow fell, piling up high, only for the weather to disperse into all ways, there being no way for it to be there where the open blue sky stood horizonless for it to stop, only to pile up again as months went by.The void was such that there seemed no horizon for the self, even with madness depriving through vision a presence that still knew no boundary; from within that void, the self was completely captivated by.

‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.Voices still accompanied it—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware.

The self roamed free as a king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion.A fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision. ‎That woman was the queen that the vision defined, a person by the emotions and fascination entity in the vision that got defined as the source of fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision, belonging but to a king I was familiar with as a person.In the silver-cold weather of winter, in a dazed state as I looked up at the sky that was filled with silver clouds, as it started to wrap the void of mountains with silver clouds, snow started to fall heavily, while the silence of the snowfall was drowned by its heavy fall.

‎While I was being carried on her back by a mother as she sang a song while strolling in the garden in circles, I was lost in fascination for emotion—a longing—as voices of self-reason from a vision that came before started with it. Voices started accompanying it—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there was no way for me to be aware.Aware, ah, I was of that as I looked at myself, nothing before it or beyond it as I myself roamed free with that mentality.A petite, immortal child or woman with long, straight black hair reaching all the way to the back of her thighs—no way to tell the difference, whether child or woman—wearing a chiton and peplos with chrysopastos, strolling around in the garden as it was normalcy.

As I saw the self that was being carried, as I did not see myself from that vision while still being aware of myself being in front of him. As it felt normal—both me not being there and the woman being there—for my normalcy, all was the same. While me still being there, different was the vision and mentality I saw while being carried behind her back; all the difference was a little calm in the madness that vision was depriving me of in all its honesty.

‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware. The self roamed free as a king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion. A fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision.

As I thought of memories from the same situation from before, I knew it might be because of the familiarity the self felt in all the madness to deprive me till that point, not being able to differentiate the weirdness in front of me in the madness the vision had deprived me of till that point; the only thing being different was me being sane there, and it still played out that way by the kindness of the self from before. A place of familiarity the woman took there in the madness for the mind to not be able to differentiate, in all that the vision was depriving me of still at that point.

‎For the self, even with madness depriving through vision a presence that still knew no boundary, from within that void, the self was completely captivated. By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, a view that would be good to share even with god himself while being carried behind the back, while still seeing the me that was being carried behind, while being aware of it—that I did not see myself from there and still saw myself being carried, and being aware of the vision as I saw it while being carried.Questioning a person while I was myself looking at myself, while aware by the vision I saw as being carried, there being no reason for any question being there for the person who stood beside me. Which I knew I forgot in the memories I had; with the familiarity of the person, madness painted that person till the point where there was no necessity or meaning for me to remember such a thing itself either. Reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.Voices still accompanied it—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware.The self roamed free as a king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion. A fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision.While a god did appear there as the child-me believed, for I knew by that vision that she was the person whom none beside me saw. By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, would it be the god? And I felt no reassurance by the appearance of the person that was a god. Voices I heard—disrespectful that would be, while the person was being defined as a given god.

‎‎The child-self still knowing through blurry memories a fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision. That woman was the queen that the vision defined, a person by the emotions and fascination entity in the vision that got defined as the source of fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision.To have reassurance that it wasn't god, to doubt that by emotions.The bad in it, still knowing to define a person as such. Reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand.Voices still accompanied it—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware.The self roamed free as a king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion.A fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision.

Still being arrogant enough for the belief the child-self wanted to share with a god, as the given fascination I was in while captivated by the view; a belief that it was worth sharing with god. And that view still being the same, for I knew it would have been worth acknowledgment by god in itself—that given fascination I was in while captivated by the view, it would be the same for god in herself. A view that captivated the self till such a point. A belief born out of it as a given reassurance, there being no doubt by the given fascination I was in while captivated by the view—a self-perception.By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, the bad in it, still knowing to define a person as such. Reassurance backed by emotions. A view that captivated the self till such a point. A belief born out of it as a given reassurance, there being no doubt by the given fascination I was in while captivated by the view—a self-perception. Reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it. The bad in it still, it defining me, knowing the bad in it to define a person as such.Reassurance backed by emotions. A view that captivated the self till such a point. A belief born out of it as a given reassurance, there being no doubt by the given fascination I was in while captivated by the view—a self-perception.

‎—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware. The definition of what was bad in it, to define another as such.The self roamed free as a king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion. A fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision. By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, to question how she would be, for it could be her, as the child-me knew by the reassurance backed by emotions. A petite, immortal child or woman with long, straight black hair reaching all the way to the back of her thighs—no way to tell the difference, whether child or woman—wearing a chiton and peplos with chrysopastos, strolling around in the garden as it was normalcy. For I still knew by the vision I saw as the child-me, there being no doubt in the self that this still isn't the god the self was aware of, by the reassurance backed by emotions. I myself, who saw the child-me, still knew what he saw as to how she is. Both knew by the reassurance backed by emotions that justified both that reassurance and the emotions that backed it, and defined her in all honesty.

‎Reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—the doubt that remained in the child-me as he defined the person as to how a god was. For there still being no doubt in the child-me as to how she wasn't her, but reality being a differentiation by two: one that I denied her to be completely, and one that I assimilated how she is by, for doubt being there to not differentiate by the reassurance backed by emotions. For she was something completely different, without the child-me still not knowing and still knowing it. The definition of what was bad in it, to define another as such.

‎‎Which tend to be followed by madness from the hell of the vision, where that small difference still matters for it to be doubt, to be defined completely by hell in the self-voice I kept on hearing, Reasoning about small things and details.

—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware.Still not knowing and still knowing it by that.The self roamed free as a king—a ridiculous person who lived a life as such for me to tell a difference by that weird emotion. A fascination that was with love for another—a woman that could soothe that madness of vision. The voice of the woman I heard. The word I heard: "That is a very disrespectful way to think! God can be her. One can't be presumptuous to guess that and assume it that arrogantly, By the appearance of another. "As the self-voice echoed, "But that isn't the way. "And the confirmation was all the more solid by the one that I assimilated how she is by. The ridiculousness the child-self was fully embraced in by the reality, as he perceived the reassurance backed by emotions and the self-voice I kept on hearing, Reasoning about small things and details.

Voices that still accompanied it, As defined, it was by the reassurance backed by emotions. As the view I was still captivated with, of that void that was fully covered in silver clouds, while the silence of the snowfall drowned with its heavy fall. In the silver-cold weather of winter, the surroundings being shrouded by silver clouds.While the child-me was being carried on her back by a mother as she sang a song while strolling in the garden in circles. While in a dazed state where visions still kept on returning, whether I was awake or asleep, being unable to differentiate whether I was asleep or awake. That being the same for both the me who saw that and the child-me who was in the dazed state. Retribution came from that doubt of what was bad in it, to define another as such. A petite, immortal child or woman, Strolling around in the garden as it was normalcy. As she approached near the child-me, the count by milliseconds, as the one I knew was proclaimed god vented her anger."I can do that," she spoke. A petite, immortal child or woman,Strolling around in the garden as it was normalcy. As she approached near the child-me,The time stopped, so did she with it, as her whole skin turned into that of a snake, her eyes with it.A transition I knew was coming from memories. As it came, me being fully aware of the self That roamed free while being fully visible; neither did I see the vision of the child-me, nor was I aware of how he perceived things, for awake he was, I knew.In the vision I saw. The same it was; all defined was me in that vision clearly, that I was not part of before, while still being there. Knew, I did, that it would happen by the given memories of the king, the ridiculous person, when he lived a life by it. The same it was still. The madness from the hell of a vision.

‎By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—the one I knew was proclaimed god. A petite, immortal child or woman who strolled around in the garden as it was normalcy. Isn't being aware of it as the vision I saw through, by that of the child-me, becoming more and more attuned for me to be sane, as to how I still saw it all the same while knowing it all beforehand in itself ? To not be able to question the petite, immortal child or woman Strolled around in the garden as it was normalcy—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware. The count by milliseconds as I stood there; time flew again as the one I knew was proclaimed god disappeared, while A petite, immortal child or woman Turned to normal while she still strolled around in the garden as it was normalcy, as she approached near the child-me who was being carried on her back by a mother.

‎She stopped in her steps as lightning struck her, as her appearance changed into many a woman, while the one I knew was proclaimed god disappeared by count of a millisecond. As it stopped, as she fully disappeared. She asked if I saw that. And I said I did not, the reason being me not aware whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware.While the child-me, who was being carried on her back by a mother, headed inside. So did I follow them behind, while that petite, immortal child or woman started crying while I was fully embraced by.Ridiculousness before the child-self was fully embraced in by the reality, as he perceived the reassurance backed by emotions and the self-voice I kept on hearing,Reasoning about small things and details. Voices that still accompanied it, As defined, it was by the reassurance backed by emotions. As the voices that still accompanied it, As defined, it was by the reassurance backed by emotions, starting to define themselves by the reality of the situation while the voices started to become real. A person that I saw behind, talking to me. While I was walking behind, looking at the child-me who was being carried on her back by a mother, as I slowly started to forget if that child-self was even me, as he was himself awake there. By a vision, a self-voice I kept on hearing, While the real voice echoed with it—the self-voice reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—the real one and the one that accompanied the self-voice with the same reality—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware. As the mother sat beside the hearth while holding the child-me—or was it even me? While madness echoed throughout the whole void, as that vision and reality collided to create a single actuality with the acknowledgment of me in that self-reality being the actuality of the reality one tends to live life by. The vision kept on playing while I sat there, while it intertwined with reality to disappear from reality, to create another reality, while some reality still played in the mind with that actuality of reality. While the me sitting there was in the same reality with that flow of actuality, a self-voice I kept on hearing,While the real voice echoed with it—the self-voice reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—the real one and the one that accompanied the self-voice with the same reality."Ah," a voice I heard, "the only way out of this madness of the world is through getting inside the child's body. "Unable to tell the real one, or was it the imagination in that madness Of the void, it echoed as full normalcy by the standards of the mind, for all the vision was defined by that hell that echoed throughout the void. In that hell that was proclaimed by the self as reality. As I approached the child's body."Mother," I heard her say, "not the person. The child is mine." To not let me get inside her child was the decision I understood of the mother whose child it was.

‎Content I was with reality to not do that. Understand, I still did, that was her child and nay, it was not me. As I sat beside the hearth.With the vision that kept on playing while I sat there, while it intertwined with reality to disappear from reality to create another reality, some reality still played in the mind with that actuality of reality. The me sitting there being in the same reality with that flow of actuality, a self-voice I kept on hearing,While the real voice echoed with it—the self-voice reasoning about small things and details. I was still able to recall that reasoning, or why I was reasoning about something I was able to understand. Voices still accompanied it—the real one and the one that accompanied the self-voice with the same reality. A woman entered the living room in the madness that echoed throughout the void. A person I still knew even in those memories. Heard I, as the self-voice echoed in that madness of hell: "Cassandra. "Ah, I heard. As she approached the child's body, she said, "This is a one-time thing."As she entered the child's body.

—whether they were memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware.As my eyes got blurry, I felt like being born for the first time. Neither was it memories, a dream, or a vision, there being no way for me to be aware. That was reality till that point; curious I wasn't about that to fascinate with it. Fear I knew by that reality—it was reality, and what a blessing was life. Curious I wasn't about that to fascinate with it; fear I knew by that reality—it was reality to fear. As I lay beside the hearth. The weather dispersed into all ways, there being no way for it to be there where the open blue sky stood horizonless; the snow that piled up started melting away. The void was such that there seemed no horizon for the self still, even with madness depriving through vision a presence that still knew no boundary; from within that void, the self was completely captivated by. The respect by reality by which life flows, respect by life still would follow.