In the Rift there is a room,
Devoid of light,
Devoid of might,
Devoid of everything.
In it lies a single entity,
Writhing in the deafening silence,
Observing the lack as it slowly,
The noises come from time to time,
If such a thing is present in this personal hell.
The muffled sounds of… whatever lies beyond the mist
Give little hope, and twice the fear.
If only the room’s walls would give way,
Crumble under the pressure of suffering,
And invigorate the sad soul of the forgotten.
What is this prison?
Where did it come from,
And why has it come to be?
And why should I deserve such a fate?