|See Also||Lore version|
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Saint Olms continues to chafe under his confinement. Despite my best attempts to deter him, Olms has begun to seek comfort in the sky, but we both know his flights outside the atrium are only the illusion of freedom. The bonds that are dragging his mind into the pit of insanity are not the walls of the Asylum Sanctorium. That artificial body is both his cell and the weight chained to his ankles.
For whatever reason, he cannot adapt to the new life Lord Seht has granted him. None of the Saints can, but Olms in particular feels a particular torment in his existence. He truly believes that he's being tested or punished, and this persecution complex grows more intense with every moment he's forced to endure his suffering. He's even begun to mistrust me now. To him, I have now become the face of his oppressor, the surrogate of Sotha Sil here to continue administering his judgement. It is an unenviable position to be in for so many reasons.