I believe I was almost locked to a chair, forced to meditate on whatever locked me here. I couldn’t see the shape of what I was at this present moment.

  I heard an ominous sound in every direction. I’m in a garden—the grass is lush green, like luminescent emerald.

  The chair… why is it on a circle? That circle—one word came to mind: enso. I knew not its meaning. It felt simple. Empty. I didn’t care to ponder a circle. This place—it felt messed up.

  Why was I here?

  The surroundings tangled me in knots. It was a perilous labyrinth.

  Apparently I was accustomed to strange places—but not this one. Or rather, not now. I’m filled with a constriction in my invisible chest. Invisible… perhaps because this is the Ill-Silks’ domain. I wouldn’t know. They’re usually beneath me—but now upon the surface, the mundane.

  I was drowning, I think. My mother drowned me after expecting me to swim. She never loved me, I think.

  I was cold. It was so cold in that moistness.

  What am I?

  Who am I?

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Am I dreaming?

  I feel the mind can distinguish between reality and dreams. But perhaps I’m mad.

  Well—if I am mad, then good.

  Better than being bored. I have a vague feeling toward that sentiment.

  I believe I’m a marionette being pulled along by the strings of fate—but I don’t care.

  I’m so ungodly alone.

  I hate those who claim of God. It’s so lonely.

  Or no—I don’t. I hate those who wish for God to hand them a silver spoon.

  What is a spoon?

  It’s so simple it makes me feel happy.

  Whatever a spoon is doesn’t matter now.

  Now, with my eye, I must look. Right.

  For you. You gave me a vague elucidation of concepts unknown.

  I’m over it frankly—The Mystery.

  Yes. The Mystery. It compels me…

  It’s time to wake up—or be born?

  This is a dream. Why am I dreaming?

  Why am I allowed to dream?

  I wish to Be, but The Mystery suggests I can only do after that. However, I can only do to the extent that I am. But I only am based upon what I think. So The Mystery loves me to think. Think I shall.

  I will not think to act while frozen this time.

  The Mystery shields me. The Mystery fills me with apprehension.

  I will chase The Mystery.

  So this time—and only this time—

  I will not sloth from the perch of my false majesty.