(Serena's perspective)
I float amongst the void and dense blackness of a space that breathes no air, nor has no life. This is stasis, but it feels like death. My body is cold, chilled by the frigid realisation that I am on the verge of death and that no manner of striving against this inky blackness would help me escape the fate that has encapsulated my soul.
Perhaps it is already too late for me.
I have no presence in this world, this impenetrable darkness that cannot be broken by any light of mine, no presence except a voice, or a thought, that rings out into the never ending gloom. It's a faint voice- my voice, but diminished into a husk of what it once was. Gone is that powerful daring and the blazon cheekiness which I used to address my elders, gone is the sweet romantic coo of the flustered notes of my voice, reduced now to a mere shell of what it was, an empty husk. Yes, it is my voice, but it is also a broken one.