I inhaled a very deep breath as I felt my soul stretch across what seemed a vast infinity. No mortal body accompanied me on my journey here...
...to the Twisting Nether.
My ethereal senses were assaulted by pain and misery, torture beyond living comparison. Screams echoed silently through my psyche, threatening to tear my very spirit apart. They never ceased in their relentless assault. Never.
What must have been, to the best of my knowledge, weeks later, I regained my bearings enough to sort some form of order from the pure chaos. Although I was now without eyes, I could see myself spinning in a mad circle, upward or downward I could not tell. Very dark lavender spiraled around and through me with vicious streaks of black running it's course through my spirit, chilling me beyond measure. As soon as I gained whatever form of sight I now had, a spirit manifested in front of me, tearing me from what I knew to be the Nether.
It was in the form of something nearly indescribable to mortal senses, but it was definitely a presence. No appearance was necessary for this creature, which introduced itself without speech as simply a "Strand Weaver." He informed me that for my penance, which would not be minute, I must carry the burden of my own strand. He also informed me as to the presence of the Nether, something I still as yet do not fully understand. It is akin to "appearance" as a terrible whirlwind, colored in dark purples and shades of congruous black. If one were to concentrate hard enough, they would find that indeed this whirlwind was made of small strands, stretching from bottomless to topless. Souls encumbered these strands, every one of them.