Heaven Was Not What I Expected

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In the fevered visions of a wanderer’s tormented slumber, the realm above unfolded not as the fabled sanctuary of ethereal splendor, but as an abyss of ocular cacophony. “Heaven was not what I expected,” lamented the weary soul, his voice a whisper against the chorus of a thousand staring orbs. In this celestial paradox, the eyes of the once blessed gazed with hollow yearning, as if seeking solace in their own omniscient vigil. Here, the golden spires and heavenly arches twisted into grotesque parodies of divine grace, each glance a tether to the mortal coil they sought to escape, binding them in a mosaic of never-ending watchfulness. This was no sanctuary of the serene; it was an opulent prison, a tapestry of grandeur and madness woven by the hands of unseen puppeteers, where salvation and damnation entwined like lovers in the dark.