Born in the wrong era? No. There is no wrong era.

Cold. So cold.
And so very hungry as well.
This was us.
Cold. Hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Without Hope.
Trapped within the four walls of a dungeon with no windows.
We knew not what went on outside.
This was all we had, and time seemed to have had no grip on us. Each moment, each second, each minute, we did not care, we could not care.
The very life within us was seeping away, drained away, by the cold and the hunger, and, the Wardens.
The mental torture alone was agonising enough.
Many had fallen, and only the strong could remain.
Darkness engulfed them. Escape was impossible and resistance, futile. We could only succumb to our fate.

But alas! It's continuity was not to be!

Redemption did come.
In an instant, the darkness was torn from our eyes.
It's herald: a single, solitary, extended note.
It's simplicity, beautiful.
It's purity, magnificent.
It's authenticity, undeniable.
Truly music if ever anyone heard it.
New life was injected into our weary bodies. new hope into our tired hearts.
We were rejuvenated.
The echoed notes that followed shortly after signalled it's finality.
We received it with unmatched relief.
It had ended.
We were emancipated.
Lit lecture was over.
Breaktime.