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Time doesn't pass here.

Its silly of course, since time is ageless. He knows that somehow, like he's dipped his hands in the sands of time, watched the grains trickle from his hands as he remained the same. He's not sure what he was, is, but he knows he's alive. There's a thought in the back of his mind, something that whispers to him and urges him to fight.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to be fighting.

But it's okay. The voice goes away often, chased away by the comforting honeyed one that urges him to rest, tells him its okay he doesn't have to fight anymore. "You're safe, you're home." It tells him, phantom fingers soothing along what he thinks is his jaw. "Rest, give in and rest."

He doesn't know why he has to rest, but he thinks he was scared for a long time. Maybe forever.

Sometimes, the fighting voice gets louder, sparks little flames that ring with images and colors to his dead eyes. He watches, panic stricken and pleased as those little seconds have light spilling into his existence. He doesn't know who he's watching, maybe it's the voice's life? But what a sad life it is.

Sometimes he thinks he cries for that man. Sometimes he feels like he knows him.

But there's nobody here in this perfect, dark world, and he dismisses that notion easily. Here in this place he doesn't have to fight, doesn't have to worry over people he doesn't really think exist and he certainly doesn't need to cry with sightless eyes.

Nobody is here to see, anyway, and it's dark.

So.

Very.

Dark.