Distress is a process of unveiling. This is the teaching of the peephole into the offering chamber.
Fear the dark magic that destroys all masks in a wash of black rain. Strips away the pain. That one might know thyself. We all take our turn, to press our eye to the slit. And see the prisoners.
Calm at first when they wake. Thinking that the soot trail of a single candle burning is there to comfort them. Not to act as a countdown to His arrival.
Once the abyssal dark begins so does their transformation. It takes hold in their thoughts. We cannot see it but we can surely hear. Worldly concerns ebb. Melt as wax to flame. Family and future give out in the unforgiving black until all that remains is escape. Acceptance that survival is all there is. No other meaning to life.
Our Lord may only take from those who truly understood. This is the gospel we contemplate, as we clear the stone floor of gnawed bones.