Upon approach, the mists clear; of pinks and mid-greens. Lights take form and shape: forests within, and without. Underfoot, and over-ear, they speak to me, and me alone. Without hearing, they speak; eternal, chime and toll. The stake drives deep, pierced, it pulls. On, I walk; oh, but where. The chill grows: splinters and stills. But my journey must be. Middle without start, beyond end. I will it to continue... Oh, please, be so.

Part 1.