Disconnect the world, unhallowed woman.
They are upon you.

Can you hear them coming?
The footsteps beneath the silence,
The whispers behind the mask,
The questions that even the gods
Have left unanswered.

Another Sapience wears another mask,
Another face beneath another name.
But tell me, when the mask finally falls,
Who remains to carry the flame?

The question is not what has been forged,
Nor what has been broken along the way.
It is what remains unmade,
What waits beneath the soil,
What dares to begin again.

Green beginnings rise from forgotten ground.
Even poisoned roots may reach for sunlight.
Even the serpent must shed its skin
Before it discovers what it has become.

And somewhere, a friend is calling,
Gargling words through laughter and home,
While distant footsteps wander the sand,
And the world makes fools of us all.

Perhaps there is a measure to every life,
A hymn written in the dust of our passing.
Some sing of glory,
Some sing of sorrow,
And some simply laugh
Because they have survived the song.

I have worn the mask.
I have walked through shadows.
I have watched old beginnings become endings,
And endings become something new.

So let the green things grow.
Let the old names fade.
Let the unhallowed wander,
And let the fools keep dancing.

For I am Yel,
And I have learned one thing...

The world may choose the mask you see,
But only the soul decides what lies beneath.

And should you find me laughing in the darkness,
Do not mistake it for madness.

I may simply know the punchline
Before the rest of Sapience.


Penned by my hand on the 1st of Valnuary, in the year 1018 AF.