I close my eyes and I stop to dream, the world is unforgiving, what we once had will never be.

Vague tones, calling me to extend my palm, but it's always out of reach.

Vague words, speaking the stories that were told thousands of times, yet we try to weave a new beginning.

What is there for any of us? In death and time, it all crumbles down to fine dust.

I feel like I'm ready to leave, yet I struggle to lit a few more lights.

No ship has sailed here for years, another day will pass, with me staring at the horizon of the night sky.

The dark, turbulent waters always remind my anxiety about the inevitable.

What difference does it make, whether I am here, or I throw myself into the ocean?

Apparently none. That's what they've always told me.

The instincts always urge me to stay inside during the storm, to not even peek out of the crevices in the cold stone.

On the other hand, they also keep pushing me towards it, to break the mundane and painful.

I see the rain, and the roses below. Would they cushion my fall?

Tenth, eleventh... the lights flicker. Each candle with a different meaning, to a different ship. Insects dance around them, so unaware of their own, void existence.

The twelfth remains unlit, as they've always told me. It's not my role to call upon the stars. It never was. I had only one wish, and it was taken away from me.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Someone else will take my place. In time.

How long until the end of that restless night? I'm starving for some sleep. My moves lost their elegance hours ago. What remains here are desperate attempts to play my role, regardless of its outward lack of purpose.

Only the clock is ticking, telling me how much time I have until I am allowed to give up.

I gather the last ounces of strength, what else can I do?

Would they see the struggle, or would they finally send somebody else? Or will my efforts be the final tale carved in this last monument of our faith?

Yes, the words of these before me, as unfinished and unintelligible as my own story.

As pointless. A ghost of memento, effaced by the relentless rain.

I lost the motion in my bones. What else is left to do?

No memory of brothers or sisters, no memory of purpose. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no knowledge or intuition of what is wrong or right. Only the codex tells us what's necessary, but I'm still frozen in place, their outdated requests are not a guidance, but a demand, twisted by the successors beyond our capability to understand.

I force myself to lie in bed, but the work is not done yet. Tomorrow, I will wake up again, alone. The new day might begin, as it usually does, pulling me closer... the routine will persist until I fade away.

Empty sky, empty room, empty emotions.

"How long until I give up?"

This whole place is in shambles. Rubble and dust. Is there anything beneath this clutter worth my attention? Is there anything worth salvaging in the final seconds until the clock ticks away my chances?

Only the shackles of those before me.

My body and mind don't listen to me anymore. Things just happen. Everything reminds me of what I am, of what I've had become... nothing tells me how to steer away from that course. The redemption never came, not that it was ever deserved. To anybody.

Ruin.

Leaking roof.

Uneven surfaces.

Cold, whistling wind.

Despite how much I looked around, I always question myself - what else is there to be done?

I already fixed half of it, I don't know how to fix the remaining half.

That's a bad place to end, but I do not know how to continue.

Twelve candles.

I don't even remember their names.

I don't even remember... anything good.

Are my eyes closed yet? There is still time to ponder about what can be done, done tomorrow.

No... I give up. There is still time but I will leave my work early.