Liminal Solitude
Ah, Noxvara… a paradise plucked from the fever-dream of a dying girl,
stitched together with golden threads and perfumed lies.
You see, this island is no blessing.
It is the last, desperate wish of a young girl who refused to die in sorrow—
It is a world she gave birth to, where pain was banished and reality itself became her plaything.
And look, what a world she made!
Beauty so cloying it stifles, gardens so sweet they rot on the tongue,
a sky painted gold to blind the eye and silence the soul.
Its people—ha!—glorious, laughing puppets, all hollow smiles and empty shells,
more concerned with their own little pathetic dreams than the truth festering beneath their feet.
They worship joy, they shun pain, and in doing so, they have become monsters.
...There is nothing so grotesque as a happiness built atop oblivion.
Over them all reigns our Noxvara, the “Origin,” herself, a ruler who smothers sorrow with kisses and sews wounds shut with lies.
She is our mother.
The mother who would rather see her children die, than ever taste the poison of truth.
But even illusions here are made of dreams.
Into this paradise, arrives a “Savior”—the literal concept of hope,
sent by Noxvara herself to preserve the dream from the creeping rot.
Ah, but what is she truly saving?
A world that devours its own memories,
a people who would rather forget than awaken?
Beneath every song lies silence.
Behind every smile, a hatred.
The greatest curse of us is not that we're dying,
but that we can't die.
