AstaRotinn

Drifting….twilight…swirling blackness…calm. Not peace, but calm. Limbo. The war inside was decided. The war-or peace-outside did not matter. Days passed. Or millennia. What did it matter? What is time? Intangible. Neither hot, nor cold. Body frozen in the grasp of Mother Earth. Dirt and debris may have piled overhead. Rock may have eroded. It did not matter. There was only here, and here was not moving. Here would not move. It was not to move. Ever. The mind? Nowhere. Or everywhere. What did it matter? What is the mind, without the soul? And there was no soul, or death would have come to claim its victim to the depths of