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Having a morbid fascination with the contemporary warfare between the light and the darkness, Vivian scampers for the light at the end of the tunnel, her back brimming with the wants of her people. The stairway she walked along in with her people to the other end of dismay is a feeble footbridge that staggers them in their attempts to gain balance. It is sloppy as they escape to cheer up a new dawn in the crystal wonderland of independence from eerie cults. The stairway isn't a path lit by crimson sunlight. It is a feeble overpass that drifts into the woods of death, through the ravines of tears, and dives into the depths of drowsiness. Barreling along the feeble stairway were gales. There were tears like torrents and thorns that devoured their feet. Some snakes spat venom in their eyes to extirpate their sight from seeing what dragged them into the underworld. Vivian was the rapier shining in front of them and whose words were wrapped in a profound sheen of fondness, saying that their castle was only a stone’s throw, until its face shone before them— a castle whence mysteries were unveiled.