“Ah… so that’s why.”
He begged… Not for Mercy, Nor for life But, for meaning behind his suffering. A reason— not to silence the pain, but to make it speak. To shape the ache into something holy, a parable carved from flesh and memory. He didn’t want rescue, he wanted revelation. For what is torment if not a question screamed into the void— and what is hope but the echo that dares to answer? He searched the silence for signs that it all mattered, that the shadows twisting in his mind were cast by something real— not just madness dressed in metaphor. And if there were gods, or ghosts, or some grand design— he wanted not comfort, but clarity. To see even a glimpse of the hidden hand behind the curtain. To whisper to himself, in the cold dark of his soul: “Ah… so that’s why.”
