...oh...oh no...oh god...god no...
the pain! ahh...i--it's unbearable! please! no! no more! stop it!
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhg!
...oh god...is that really what you wanted me to do? this is...perhaps the cruelest undertaking...this mind, it...it's shape is no longer, it has ceased, it is done, there is nothing here worth salvaging, no, you were wrong in this endeavor, the fate of this creature, this poor, sad, pitiable creature is death, any other pursuit is vainglorious, or mad...
what? you...you want a panacea? to what? it has failed, it has nothing! what possible device is there in such a deadzone...i see here, and i tell you now, without doubt, this land is scorched, to the very heart, and all is...to describe what i see here is to detail a searing, dessicated consumed lately as from a great wildfire...or a bloody massacre, bones and limbs here and there, and every precipice filled to the brim with black, bubbling...i tell you now, please do not reproach or think me quick or assume i am naive in my observation...this place, this land, this hell is, it is done. time cannot enter here, for all here is lost to time, in a dry, desert of...
...evidence? of what? ...secrets? no, that cannot be, i have scoured every memory, every intimacy, every humiliation. there is nothing...
...beyond my scope?
...i fear...i fear you are most accurate. there lies somewhere here, in the least apparent, a foul, dark, brooding pestilence. as a locust's hoard, enduring beneath the dark depths of the earth, sustained by the blackest of nature's root, gall for milk, sightless substances, thick like night, the dunnest smoke of hell, the the vilest of poisons, seeping, milking, feeding...growing.
yes...it is here..i can sense it...but, too far...to buried...inexhaustably entombed by it's melancholy weight, sunken...leaden...molten....
yes yes...this shall indeed a titan's task be, for such a tiny worm. my little heart, i wonder if i shall even last past the awakening...every course and recourse shall be cut, reworked, unfastened and rehatched until the very likeness of a fever dream shall....
oh...it is awakening...the tingling of sensation, the burbling gout of thoughtspurting, here it comes...
ahh! ahh!
entanglement, alas, thou art mine only succor