He stands there blinking, looking up.
The fog fills the darkness like liquid in a cup.
Swirling around, making patterns as it falls.
It fills the void as frustration calls.
Silence.
Emptiness.
Nothing to hold on to.
Suddenly a face appears, providing a clue.
“Beryl” he shouts out with relief, but then curses again his memory thief. He now knows the name he’s been searching for but can’t remember who asked for it hours before…
The Mansionic Perspective 
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