Paint the man, cut the lines, cut the flesh, watch the blood spill – let it come!

Something died inside of him that day. Watching that man slip away was more than his mind was willing to handle.

The statues were praying – gazing into the dark domed ceiling.

The faint glow escaped my fingers and began to spark brightly and spirit me away. Unlocking alien memories of spiralling towers, endless deserts, and impossible geometry.

I know this. I've been here already. I know this taste – the taste of Damascus Rose obfuscating the truth in a dim haze. They may sweep the traces from my memory, but my body remembers. These cuts speak volumes, even though my mind remains silent.

They will be back. Oh, they will be back.