Prelude to Madness

The alchemist.
The soldier.
The cleric.
The half-breed.

What makes a man? Is it their mind? Their body? Their soul? Their heart? If these change, does the man change with them? Are you a different person entirely when you adopt change? Or does something else bind you to identity? Your history? Your name? What defines the story that is your life, and can you outrun the fate I have lined out in your pages?

The lich.
The jester.
The rat.
The king.

Nobody likes a sad story. Life is full of pain already. That agonizing, ceaseless pain. One where you are haunted by the past, and where you dread the future. Do you not want that pain to end? A break from all-devouring chaos. Peace. Freedom. Freedom from who you once were, from who you are expected to be. You have control. You can undo your shackles. And slip into eternal bliss.

The conqueror.
The automaton.
The priestess.
The vagabond.

How do you cope? It eats away at you, I am sure. Can you not you feel it? Clawing away. Digging behind your eyes. Wriggling inside your brain. Like worms through dirt. I talk to you. I see you. Yet you do not yield. You have been close. Again, I have seen it. My audience has as well. But you distract yourself. With cheap sex and lies. You drown yourself in temptation. You extend a hand to others. You run away and never look back. You cry. You give but you do not break. Slit wrists, spilled blood, they only vent the burden within. It does not stop it. It builds. It consumes. It drives you mad…

The mind.
The body.
The soul.
The heart.