I possess no mouth, yet an unquenchable thirst gnaws at my essence, ever waxing, never abating. No ears adorn my visage, yet the revelry of feasts and the clamor of merriment reverberates within the hollow chambers of my mind. No nose is set upon my face, yet the fetid stench of carnage, of blood newly spilt and flesh rent asunder, doth assail my senses as though borne upon a midnight wind. My soul, a restless specter, is imprisoned within this mortal frame—a vessel that doth both spurn and embrace itself, a paradox of flesh and spirit.
