We are high in the clouds, in a glorious palace with massive pillars gilded with gold, with drapes of shimmering silk arching between them like a cobweb. The air tastes sweet, and is scented with delicate and wonderful aromas. Omnipresent calm is complemented by a distant and barely audible music.

Smiles creep across our faces as we rest, surrounded by riches of gems and jewels, in one of the many pillowed plazas, and we dine on wine and delicacies.

From afar, a voice entreats us to bask in his light, to partake from eternal calm and joy. With light feet we run toward him, but as we draw nearer the voice gains form, becoming a cackling echo that slithers within many pillared halls.

A tall figure, clad in crimson and chains, stands still, watching the name on the floor. It compels us to erase it, but in doing so we feel that it would be an end of us. So we strike at the crimson form and it strikes us in return.