Fog began to form on the glass, tracing out irregular shapes. The man's face was smushed against the wall of the container, his arms tied behind his back with frayed rope. When he tried to move, pull himself away from the wall for a gasp of air, his face could only slide along the smooth, cold surface.

He did this for years, running circles, or squares, around his glass prison. Fogging up everything until he forgot what the outside world looked like. Memories of viridian trees, babbling brooks --- each was muddled by a gentle, gray haze. Over time, the crystal chamber became hotter with his breaths. Suffocating. The man repeatedly passed out from heat exhaustion, face still pressed against the glass, only to wake up to a chill. Funny, how it always came back while he slept.

When the man died, as was necessary, the others planned to come inspect his body. They forgot. Months passed before they remembered. The corpse had long decayed. Still, the others pushed open the chamber door.

A quick examination told them that the skeleton was made of glass, and that there had never been any rope.