Behold the roses in the iron.

See them swim to consciousness.

The old awareness of something unseen, present, watching.

It is in the walls, right now.

-

All the other voices have died away.

But I'm not dead. I'm not mute.

Let the words chill your heart.

The thing has taken me prisoner.

-

I want to open my eyes.

I want to see the stars again.

But the fire has died away, as well.

It would only hurt us in the long run.