Folie et Déraison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A silent and merciless order of ideals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She does not hesitate.

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

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

Dreams are the first and last dance partner of madness.

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