*Alas, fate seemed to love mocking him. He could be in the chamber with Isolde and abandon himself to their shared pleasure, losing all inhibition and doubt - his fears, his weakness. Instead, the dreary walls, painted in obsidian and framed with the black drapes of the bed were witness to his mind's desperate attempt to fight against fatigue and lack of rest. If he dared fall asleep, he knew what he would see. The dreams wouldn't spare his sanity. The shards, piercing and tearing flesh apart. H...