I’ve lost my way, but still found myself here. It’s a colorless, formless place. It creeps like fog, but it bites like fire. It consumes me like it wants me, like it needs me, and I’m too tired to refuse. I’ve lost the lines between who I was and who I want to be. Blood drips steadily up my nose, up my closed eyelids, and into the void above. I can’t tell if I’m in the right place, and neither can I know what the right place is. My reflection flees into the mist. I can’t touch my toes without bending my knees. If I opened my eyes, I could see the specters in the pale. They’ve torn my reflection apart and left its corpse to be swallowed. I can hear them say, “you are not who you think you are,” but I already have no idea who I am. Where would I even start?
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