There is a place that rests within the Twilight where neither light nor darkness holds sway. There are sanctuaries within such a temple where peace is unattainable. No, in these hidden alcoves illumination comes from violet hues. The whispers begin quietly, almost imperceptible. They lure you with promises of power and wealth, tempt you with assurances of a life without worry and absent pain. “You can still hear them, can’t you?” She whispered to me after I had spent my days and nights (years?) within those walls. The voices haunt me. I dream of them. I hear them beckon me from shadowed hallways even though I am far away from that place, that temple that houses something more present than a god. “Their song will never leave your mind.” She promises me, her voice sweeter than freshly gathered honey, Spring’s first flowers. She is a creature comprised of everything pure now twisted and distorted into that which the absence of light may define. Her words ring with truth. Melodies which once pleased me, lulled me, echo with strains of foreign chords. Alien strings pluck on strange instruments. The conductor is not the same who orchestrated the symphony before.
“You belong to the melody now. Just like I do…” She whispers once more in my ear, but is she even really here? Or is it just myself and my madness? Did I ever leave that temple? Does twilight still reign over me? Do I only believe myself to be elsewhere or am I there even now, bathed in that violet and crystalline light?