Snow falls all around me, and with it, any hope I once had flees into oblivion. I found safety in this loneliness, but I cannot stand it anymore. I am slowly accepting my inevitable demise in this forsaken, icy mockery of a city. Anything that resembles my sanity has broken, leaving me a mindless wretch, begging to be freed.
I still hear them, those infernal voices that brought me to this hellish domain. Or maybe I don't, and my mind is even farther gone that I think it is. Worse still, what if I am hearing them, but my mind is yet still farther gone than I hope?
Following this train of thought, what if these months I've spent wandering silent, foreboding streets were all in my mind, and none of this is real? If this is the case, then I presume it to be impossible to save me from my shattered sense of reality.
I see writing on the exterior wall of some unnamed, unnumbered building. It is in a language I've never seen before, but, if I look at it for long enough, I get the feeling that it says that "you will find us soon." I suppose I can force myself to survive for a little while longer, as I, though I beg for death, am determined to find the reasons why I am exiled to this unspeakable shadow of a realm.
I will find you, and you will not be able to hide the truth from me.
So show yourselves, cowards, and face your deaths with dignity.
how cute, you think you can fight us
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