[Darker now, this deep. Dark and still, quiet and private, but there is something beyond it, waiting ahead, something there and tangible and bright, warm as the first rays of sunlight.

Whatever barriers may have guarded here are no more than veils of mist and rustling paper, so easily parted and pushed aside.



Here. Here. The light of the morning sun through closed eyes, the warmth and comfort of a warm bed when there's no reason to move. Murmured words, the feel of fingers through his hair but none of those things are here, not really. Just a book, open in his hands, that looks like paper but feels smooth as mirrored glass, designs etched into its bindings.

There are chains here. Chains all around, but that's not an important thing, is it? Not like this, these open pages.

One side is completely blank. The other, drawn in colours so vibrant it could be real, is marked with the image of a stained-glass circle. A picture of Zexion rests on its surface, the faces of those few so deeply imprinted on his heart captured there too. Black eagles and crosses that shift between he Nobodies' and Prussia's own frame the image, in the background, the Castle stands white and tall, the Dark City clustered around it—until closer, here, where it spreads out into a sunlit field of blue cornflowers.]