Issac of the Diamonds, who closed the doors to the hallway and crept into the dark once more. Followed by Diamonds, the suns who dwindled and fed. Whispers in a dream of sharp edges, the triangles of Valdurech piercing beneath their steps. These things have murmured for eons, blinked through ages. It hurts when I dream of Issac, and the events are often short. Whispers in the inky blackness of an abyss, and the many open eyes in them.
