Thus madness was born.

Out of many fathers and many mothers, madness was born. In the Immortal city of echoing inhabitants she remained immortal—yet alien forever. All what others knew of her was that they knew nothing of her; all she ever knew of herself was that she knew nothing of herself. She remained the childless child of many, some believed all. Nothing came out of her, but diaphanous laughter and screams which were her father and mother as well. She remained atavistic mother of her own ancestors.
It is the strangest of cities, within each city. It took its first form in Adam and then in eve and now in billions of us, there is one of these. At old times, it is presumed that, madness wasn’t born. Some believe it to be a dormant larva then, others say it came later with evolution of languages and semiotics in the other sphere in which these cities are located. Many tried to penetrate it, through tools of language and hence the names they gave to its people. Collectively these were called emotions. Emotions were the people of these cities where yours/ours truly madness resides.
The story is of an endless futile search by somebody to penetrate the city to delineate madness and her parents with an absolute certainty. As just told, the end of story is the futility of the search, what good is a story if its end is told. Then why should stories be good, they are stories after all.When Somebody encountered madness quarantined in its own city, like they used to do with leapers in other sphere, he asked her what she knew of herself. Madness couldn’t answer. Whatever Somebody tried to name the expressions on the face of madness, transient as they were, he named it one of its ancestors, fathers or mothers. Whenever Somebody tried to separate her own identity of that of her ascendants he found himself unable to do so, but he couldn’t even match her with any.
The story ends, madness remains the childless child. Of many fathers and many mothers.