The day someone knocked on the door of the dying cabin, lost deep in the woods of Wyrrah Vale, was the day the earth began to stir--just slightly, just enough to finally notice the boy with hunger for teeth. Sora was still young, but he had long crossed the threshold of saving.

However, when the Jehovah's Witness knelt in the unforgiving snow and begged him to pray, Sora thought--just for a moment--that maybe there was still hope. And maybe there was. Maybe.

But that same night, as he tore into the flesh of someone who had once been as alive as he was, prayer lost all meaning. The trees wept, their cries drowned beneath the sound of raw, bloody meat being shredded by enamel. Chewed. Swallowed. Erased from existence.

For the rest of his life, Sora saw that man's face. It haunted his dreams, his waking hours. Every moment, every breath, he was there. Would that man ever know? That he was the first person Sora had seen, let alone spoken to, besides his father.

And he'd made it out of the woods alive.

Sora could've killed him. He probably should've and then maybe he would feel better. But he didn't.. he prayed instead. And he prayed and he prayed and he prayed.

Until death.