Who made this prison?

Was I the artisan of these unforgiving, iron-clad constraints? I wasn't the sculptor of this bleak prison, a souvenir now under the dominion of Hel. In this unyielding fortress of solitude, I find an uncanny gift - the chance to peer into the cracked looking-glass of my own existence, and, in the shards of my past, I find the key to my chains. Odin's wisdom, as relentless and unyielding as a well-tempered blade, etches a lone, immutable path across the canvas of reality. Yet, mine is a script pe