Drawing and Writing Stuff

My core remains tangled

A mess of madra, my core burns bright.

The future seems to be treacherous

It becomes more difficult for me to keep my soul alight.

I cycle and cycle and cycle, scraping my core for hope.

I find nothing, it seems I'm at the end of my rope.

Resorting to the Path of the White Fox, I conjure up dreams and visions to keep myself occupied.

Or rather distracted,

When the visions fade away as my madra runs dry,

The only thing visible in my mind's eye,

are fears and problems.

I sit there, breathing silent as I slowly drift away into the land of hopes and dreams