The tree, dripping with blood. I hear their wails—who are they even?

I reach out for the whispers of memory, yet they evade my grasp. Sometimes, I suddenly gasp from an absent pain—it’s like, for an instant my whole body has this searing ache—then it’s gone.

I remember a caring touch, I almost remember a voice. It’s like that feeling you get when your mother hugs you; it’s like you’re home, lik...

How could she face herself? Sure, blood stains, but wounds heal. How could she use anything else?

Bows: you aren’t tormented by the faces of those you harm.

Swords: you can cause too much damage too easily.

Lance: if you’re going to hurt them, give them a chance to hurt you, goddamn it!

There’s a small thud onto the dusty carpet.

She’s not willing to even consider the last option....

The red… it’s beautiful.

How it burns in the fires, gleams in the blood. The shadows gleam and writhe with newly departed souls. Everything is perfect.

I trace my fingers along their face, pale and wet. I wonder how this one left—not that it matters anymore.

I walk silently through this raging peace, cries and screams dulling gradually; they will all find solace in my arms.

I find a poor c...

I know these moments, plentiful and waiting. I adorn my soul with these feelings I’ve snatched, all of them born of anticipation.

But this… this is different…

This fear is something I wasn’t meant to take.

The moment before death… before the heart stops, before the eyes glaze over, before it all ends.

I never imagined her eyes would just dim like that; I thought it was all make-believe, uns...

Her eyes. I hate how piercing they are; it’s like she can see things that aren’t there.

She’s probably crazy; I don’t fully know, but she must be. She says she doesn’t remember anything—what a liar.

I don’t know why they trust her. No one believes me when I say she’s no good. It’s just this feeling… it’s like she’s not meant to be here. It’s like when you come face-to-face with one of /them/… ...

That feeling. Like I’m being watched.

I can’t shake this; it’s taken over my body, my mind, my soul. “They know… they all know,” my mind drones on helplessly.

They know I’m ruined, they know I’m horrible, they know I can’t help it.

But can’t I?

I try to shower it off. “You’ll feel better when you’re clean,” they tell me. But I can’t wash my soul. I can’t reach into my brain and scour out the...

The tears. They wouldn’t cease. The blood... ever-flowing.

Why me? I could've asked that a thousand times.

I thought I'd ended it. I thought I had saved myself. Sure, it was the worst thing I could've done; I know it was selfish; /I know./ But... why me?

As I stare at the dagger, I can't help but pity myself. How come they didn't fix me when they 'fixed me'? Surely if you can bring someone back t...