I keep having the same dream.
The world is dark, split between ocean and sky, but impossible to tell where. There is a floating mound of thorns in the ocean, large as Aravin. I am in the middle of that, laying in a bed of roses. It smells like summer.
My eyes are closed. I do not dare to open them. I am afraid of looking into that darkness. I feel it would swallow me whole, and I would cease to exist. No one would remember me, further, there would have never been an Allaha born.
I am not so afraid of dying.
From the Testimony of the Convict Allaha of the Mountain, Dated this day the 1st of Asvorian, Year of the Fall 518.