“I stumbled in through the doors of the Präim Cathedral. I’d only ever heard rumors of this place, but to finally be here? I could barely stand, but that didn’t stop me from being in wide-eyed awe of this place. 

I’m no man of faith. Whatever small ties I had to it was eradicated with the Uprising. Even still, I was compelled to walk to the head altar. Every step I took, the weight felt heavier. Something had to release. The tears began to fall. Streams became rivers. Whimpers became wailing. Steps became a crawl. Every new scream was a plea to whoever was listening to release me. All of the loss and grief bubbled up at once. I could feel myself being lifted and carried; I became deaf to my own howling. The sounds of the world fell away as I slipped underneath an invisible ocean, sinking to the top of the cathedral. I saw a barrage of colors that I have no words to describe. Beauty incarnate.

When I finally sunk down to the altar, everything was still; I couldn’t feel a thing. 

And then, a whisper in the deepest corner of my mind: ‘A beautiful shackle is a shackle nonetheless.’

And at last, I understood.”