The woods fell silent. For once, the endless whirlwind of falling leaves seemed suspended in mid-air. She was centered within a circle of six ancient oaks, their massive roots winding out to embrace and support the shimmering crystal encasement; the name “Mary” was carved into the thick, solid base. She lay there, still, just as they said. Golden-brown hair, draped over a woven silk dress. Her skin was porcelain, and her eyes, opened wide with fear, were a painfully piercing shade of blue. I stared at her for a long time, trying to understand what is it that she saw, what it was that terrified her… but I knew there was only one way to find out, and so I drew my sword.
— Mary, Octun Brodeur XVI

Tap your finger, press your hand, slam your fist and understand. This world around you isn’t real- it’s a vivid dream that traps your soul. Wipe your eyes, but not too much – my hands may slip when I reach out to touch. Please wake and rise, please use your voice; please call upon the Tide that Turns. I cannot fathom to ignore, this sleeping beauty as she stirs. I want to hold you, pull you away. I want to destroy this glass prison you don’t know that you’re in.

Mary, I know you’ve got something, oh you’ve got something. You’ve got something to say.