So there he huddled, desperate for the cool fresh air which poured through the cracks and crevices, smelling sweet and unadulterated, free of the filth and dank of the cell. Piper permeated his lungs with the lilac of spring and the spice of fall and some exotic scent of summer he could never quite place. He bathed himself in the light that warmed and cleansed him and fought back the creeping blackness.
He told himself to be a man and accept his just sentence, admit his weakness and set aside his dependency, but it was an insidious, seeping, creeping thing which leant strength to his soul and corroded the shadow’s defenses. Despite the excruciating pain of that exquisite half-life, he despaired that he would ever conquer the addiction.