--Rose--
Part 1: Dasein
For the longest time, there was nothing – no sight, no sound, not even pain – and my thoughts swam in the lightless depths of some dead ocean. Even the shapes of my memories had become, somehow, blurred. I remembered the concept of music, of voice, but the practicalities of poetry and song did not abide with me. I remembered ideas of kinship, loyalty, and family, but found myself alienated from their names and faces. All I had was time, and a vague sense of existence that floated, invisible, next to me, around me, waiting, since I had no hands to grasp it and no self to contain it.
One day – or one night, I could not tell – a rumbling began, a distant drumming, which brushed against me more as touch than sound. I realized, then, with a certain relief, that I was not a disembodied ghost, after all. In fact, a comforting warmth had begun to radiate from somewhere and, in the boundless darkness where I existed, an incipience of senses coagulated around my consciousness.
Then, I learned – or was reminded of – the meaning of color, and light. Diffuse, formless at first, washing over me in warm hues of red, like a… "sunset", I thought – not fully knowing what the word meant. My pitch-black void was thus flooded with a golden haze, from where a pair of black spots sometimes emerged and hovered near me for a while, before sinking back into the foggy glow. Every time, it felt like they spoke to me – but if they did, I could not discern any of the words.
It took time – how long, I could not say – but the misty radiance eventually dissolved, and that enduring sunset did, gradually, coalesce into the truth of my surroundings. I saw… a vast, well-lit chamber, littered with strange devices, jars pulsating with luminescent oozes, delicate flasks bubbling with vibrant liquids, and an intricate network of glassware distilling essences that shimmered as they travelled through crystalline piping. The stone walls were lined with countless shelves, each bending under the weight of large, leather-bound tomes. At the center of the chamber sat a massive oaken desk, cluttered with parchments, mortars and pestles of every size, around a delicate-looking balance scale.
Most importantly, I pieced together that the floating spots which had visited me on occasion belonged to the larger anatomy of a peculiar creature: one clad fully in dark, his face as that of a bird’s, and blackest glass where the eyes were supposed to be.
The creature who occupied that space with me was a man. I knew this because I could hear his voice, even though he had no mouth. He muttered. He paced around, speaking to himself, or to someone else I could not see.
"Witches and craftsmen, seers and alchemists, who can be trusted? Each carrying a fragment, they're all, individually, wrong – but I have an eye for reconciliation. A heart on which to mend this beautiful fracture."
His voice was distant, but clear. Low, mournful, comforting. He would flip through pages, then raise his head to stare at nothing. Sometimes, he'd came to my side and mutter at me.
"The gifts of forgiveness and the gifts of forgetfulness, what properties do they share? All the intersections, I shall bequeath to you."
I do not believe he realized I could hear him. I pondered that, since he looked at me, this must mean that I had a body – though, at that time, I had but the flimsiest awareness of it. Eventually, as my sight improved, I realized that I existed within the confines of a glass casing – which I did not mind, at first, as it was far better than the void I had experienced before.
(...)