I opened my eyes to the infuscation. I neither saw nor heard anything at first—not even my own breathing or heartbeat rang in my ears, as it would have in other times of panic. A harsh chill contaminated the area, and I focused on how little it made my skin crawl; smelling glacial, feeling nothing. Had I been abandoned by my senses? My feelings? I could only think of what was wrong with this imaginative illustration, of how wrong it felt to me. I could not think, or recall, anything else.

Where was I?

Little by little, my senses returned to me. My hazy vision showed me pairs of golden red eyes staring down at me on the mold-encrusted ceiling. Gargoyles crouching on intricate, cathedral-like pillars turned towards me, awakening. Rats scurried along the green, stone tile. Their squealing became fainter as they proceeded down the hall. A door, all but lost in the dense darkness, indicated the end of the room. Far enough away to where I was unable to make out its emblem, glistening white.  A chandelier hung above radiating a turquoise shade of polluted light.

Who was I?

After the tiny pattering of the vermin grew inaudible, I turned away from the sight. Behind me sat a chalice. Nothing beyond. Sparkling glass, the shape warped and perverted into that of nacre, held upright by a diamond handle. Inside, a thick red liquid. However I longed to touch the chalice, my body would not move.

Simultaneously, I heard the door at the far end of the hall open and close. I made no effort to turn. Swift footsteps glided their way up to me. Then reticence. I broke the silence by blinking, turning my eyes upward, feeling the presence of two other bodies. The hushed voice of a taciturn figure broke the silence.

“Majesty?”

I said nothing, finding no way to move my grueling lips. Again I heard the voice. Again I was puzzled by its words. Majesty? Am I this “majesty” in question? I could not be; I had not even the slightest clue who I was, or why I was unable to create a motion under my neck. Did I have a body anymore?

“Majesty?” was again inquired. What was left of me refused to respond. A cloak descended upon me, inches from my face. I looked into the shadow it created, seeing the outline of lips and teeth; an unfamiliar masque. My eyes flickered back to the chalice.

The figure spoke to the other in what sounded like inaudible tongues. “Elders,” said they. Elders? I dared not take my regard from the crimson elixir. Their presence melted away into the black walls as the time flowed forward. I felt nothing of time. Everything seemed to have been taken from me. I had awakened from a dream of wealth into a reality of poverty. I dreamt I was alive. I dreamt I could feel the warmth of the day and the chill of the night, of the scents of a Narcissus, and of the time passing by. I had awoken with nothing of the sort. No longer did I feel I would be burnt by a flame, or frozen by snow. No longer was I involved in the life stream. Time had abandoned me; I felt as if I could no longer feel its effects. Life was night in an entire.

What was I?