Folie et Déraison

Our story begins on the evening of March 22, 1991.

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A ring that closes on itself? That is far from enough to define the essence of "fate."

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Excellent, everything is going according to plan. "Fate" will not reveal its hand—at least, for now.

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For a drifter, a stay behind an iron-barred window can feel like just another stretch of desert.

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A salute to a literary society born within a prison—no, a tribute to an impossible miracle.

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Metallic sheen, rippling water, and shadows that peer back from within the dim reflection.

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Open your eyes to see the night. Close them to see the light.

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Open it, reread it. Witness firsthand the events that transpired within the desert.

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A silent and merciless order of ideals.

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The truth is, no one can truly bend "fate."

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The goddess delights in toying with the piety of her believers.

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What disrupted this era? What unraveled time? The shadow lurking in the ruins answers: madness.

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Within the corpse of the labyrinth's builder, he proclaims: it is and has always been perfect.

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Between two mirrors hangs a single object. One face, two faces ... cascading into the infinite.

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The mournful, the grotesque, the sum of self and self.

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She does not hesitate.

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Beneath the earth, those who were never granted marble nor memorials call out her name.

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A tiny boat adrift upon a sea of ideals, convinced it has hoisted its sail.

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Dreams are the first and last dance partner of madness.

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As day breaks, the story ends where the ashes rest. In the end, the night is not eternal.

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