The Damned and the eternal. Another whisper on the wind.

The room seems never ending a circular chamber that pushes from the earth from nowhere, just appearing as it seems, The ceiling constantly climbs, the room forever cold. In the shadows, a pair of eyes glitter down in anticipation from the belcony, down half the length of the circular room, still many feet from the belcony a string of nets and ropes. Slowly the eyes turn, to gaze at the figure restrained before them, burning heat as they gaze, intently boring into the young womans soul. She knows that the thoughts coming from those eyes are wrong. The only reward in the poion of this existence is death, eternal death, complete distruction..... But still she accepts it, it burns her throat, numbs her libs. She falls. She stops........ Far to soon. The girl is blown from the balcony by a new gust of wynd, and topples over the sides, falling far below, falling into the ropes and nets, suspended a moment in time. A noose for every limb, for neck, for waist -puppet on a string, on threads... High above, naked, gleaming, skeletal hands twitch, play among the ropes... Dancing strings... Dancing the girl... The girl in the nets clears her head and grabs at the cords, pulls herself up, climbs to the cross piece. Now the hands have an attached body, a figure lost in the shadows of this place. Good girl.... Keep moving. The hands stop, the eyes stoop forward to peer down at their plaything, As she stares the face and being Vanish, and a new figure appears, appearing as herself, her own chilling smile, as the hands reach out. This may be the end, and I can not help her.... She falls again in a shower of blood, lands broken in her harness. The eyes begin again, carefuly dancing the ropes, carefully dancing the girl, Time passes perhaps. In exhaustion she sees things she cant remember... The wall is the floor. Planks to pale for wood line the darkness. The crimson splashes change colour, dancing with her. She closes her eyes in futile defence, but even blind her vision clouds.... Then the fog becomes flames.. And the flames become words. If you give up now..... We stay here. Slowly the words come from the fire and from the mist that stand before her: A girl. Her body is awake...... Her spirit has left..... She will live, be reborn... She wipes off the blood from her dress.... But her hands won't come clean, she laughs bitterly from a dry throat No angel would be coming for me.... The girl feels the eyes turn to her, her body lifting over the belcony, to rest down before the figure that once again stands before her. But now you don't need one.... came the voice, and she knew the figure was right.