He, who is the witness of never and no one, decided to close his eyes, never to open the sealed gates again. No, he did breathe, and he was conscious.

There was no one next to him when he made his decision. No one gave him orders, and no one encouraged him. He was alone, though he had alongside one companion, only the vision of a lovely scene projected onto his eyelids. And the vision whispered right to his soul, ignoring the ear and the mortal shell surrounding his existence.

The whispers told him of a tale of what were to come in a different world. A world of unicorns and magic creatures. A world fortified with ever-growing love. A world where gods have mercy. A world without the flow of time threatening all stories to be realised and all dreams to be lived.

The whispers hugged his soul, smothered him, warmed his weary heart. They, like a mother to her babies, covered his existence with care and gave him comfort brought from the womb of the world.

He decided to stop writing. It hurts. To know that she was not in my vision. To hold back tears that blissfully crave to fall down. To hope still.