Falling through darkness with Death’s iron fingers a noose around my neck, I called out to you. I begged you to intercede before he crushed my last bit of life but you didn’t answer. Your radiance never pierced the darkness and so I sank through the void for an eternity. I call for you even now but you don’t hear me, or maybe you just don’t care. Do you know what he’s doing? Do you know what he wants? What options have I left then? The Moon is right here, offering his hand, and here I am in need of one to take. Could you blame me if I did? You’ve taken it too.


Chaos is necessity, you tell me, which sounds a lot like death is necessity, like free will is necessity, like even, perhaps, madness is necessity. Why did the moon kill the sun? You have a different answer every time I ask; they are all true and all false. I thought once that the answer might solve your mystery, but now I see it is merely the surface of something much deeper and much darker. Do I dare seek what waits beneath it?