This spiral staircase – his sensorium – ever silent and deep, whose steps fade and whose shadows wilt before the blossom of endogenous darkness, is devoured stair by stair as the beast pursues him downward with unalloyed rancor and tenacity
There is no egress; the absence of memories marked by the stench of failure and the bilious venom of self-awareness, is all that remains in the wake of its destruction; to continue running is either desperate esperance, or an alacritous attempt to hasten the inevitable fall
