one by one they they leave the den...and pick up the peices
"I need a catalyst to rekindle the flame that once burned within these fists, but...defeat remains."
-The night I lost the will to fight : Cursive : off Domestica
We were nothing. Nothing more than the prison bars which surrounded our entire world.
Don't get me wrong. We could see out. I mean, it wasn't like the tarnished glass -- the mess of scratches from endless attempts of our supporters to free us -- didn't give us a view on reality. Oh, we knew it was there. But the only problem was, if we left, we left everything we had ever known. And it wasn't so bad -- I guess. There would be no return without surrender.
Stockholm syndrome much?
"But the icicles hung down like prison bars..."
-Cursive
And now, one by one, we were getting our first real glimpse of the outside. I had escaped. I left it all. M chose to roam on a leash -- a chance to gather information, to maybe one day make it out herself. B still harbours grand artistic hopes while the worms corrupt her heart. And T -- he's low key, faltering and breaking: his glasses are one more pane between him and reality. But he's the one who receives the underground communicés. He's refining his skills, step by step. Yeh, one day he'll breathe the fresh air.
And it's such sweet, sweet air.
-The night I lost the will to fight : Cursive : off Domestica
We were nothing. Nothing more than the prison bars which surrounded our entire world.
Don't get me wrong. We could see out. I mean, it wasn't like the tarnished glass -- the mess of scratches from endless attempts of our supporters to free us -- didn't give us a view on reality. Oh, we knew it was there. But the only problem was, if we left, we left everything we had ever known. And it wasn't so bad -- I guess. There would be no return without surrender.
Stockholm syndrome much?
"But the icicles hung down like prison bars..."
-Cursive
And now, one by one, we were getting our first real glimpse of the outside. I had escaped. I left it all. M chose to roam on a leash -- a chance to gather information, to maybe one day make it out herself. B still harbours grand artistic hopes while the worms corrupt her heart. And T -- he's low key, faltering and breaking: his glasses are one more pane between him and reality. But he's the one who receives the underground communicés. He's refining his skills, step by step. Yeh, one day he'll breathe the fresh air.
And it's such sweet, sweet air.
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