Spin around in circles until you’ve lost all balance and control. There is no wasting away when all you have left is the dead. Once you’ve allowed yourself a taste of the heart, let it’s faults return you to your initial ambiguity. Peril never stopped you. And now that you’ve chanced it all, you’re left numb and cold. Winter has left these veins, yet they remain frozen. No minds to be made, and no ailment of the soul to remedy; just blank, impassive, senseless wandering. Numbness.
