I'd discovered myself at the verge of a cliff, at a height unfathomable for a sapien. Never had I found myself frightened of something as much as I was now. I bowed my head down, to peer into that abyss where I'd fall if I let go of that rope of hope akin to a strand of hair. I could see a bleak vision of light , with clouds as a periphery. Looking down made my heart skip a beat. I endeavoured to back off. But I couldn't, as my feet were amidst the fetters. These shackles were put onto my feet with a promise that they would guarantee my glory. But they did not. Those fetters were mere expectations. Yes, they were clots of my own blood around my feet to ensure something, that was only destiny's right to decide. Destiny, they said was a kind of wind that brings you honour as a reward if you outdo it. Or it'll bring you shame if it vanquishes you. And then destiny hit me with a blow, which I survived. The shackles aided in my surveillance. Everyone celebrated my victory and so did I, and later did I realize that it wasn't the victory but a lost battle. A battle that brought darkness into my life. That glory, those shackles wished for, would've only been awarded to me if I'd allowed the fate to thrash me. I still don't know what was down that cliff and I'll remorse it throughout my life. Not breaking the shackles and jumping off that cliff will be my biggest regret.
