I stare at the point of my pen that, without my consent, stopped writing.

Drops fall on the paper, smudging and deforming the small dark letters imprinted on it, the same letters I just wrote on that once white surface. Perplexed, I take a hand to my face and find it wet, and I almost smile at the tears that blur my vision, certain of how rare they are, to the point I’d even forgotten I was able to cry at all.

Am I alive ... or am I dead?

Maybe my life ended when I fell on that cold, stone floor; the fog that paved my path belonging to a shadowy world inhabited only by lost spirits. And yet, the warm tears that my eyes insist to shed seem to challenge that theory. After all, in my limited human belief, death should be unfeeling and cold.

Somewhere from deep inside my mind, pieces of days I don’t recall living emerge. Days that, unnoticed, have gone by me, as if they have never existed. Maybe they’re just pieces of dreams from a lost spirit, but, in all of them, an angel with golden hair and bright green eyes stares at me, his expression filled with pain and compassion. In these strange lost dreams he is always present, fulfilling the everyday tasks that, in truth, were mine to fulfill. His warm, gentle hands treat me like I’m a porcelain doll, precious but inanimate, dressing me, combing my hair, feeding me and forcing me to walk. With fake, frail smiles he leaves me sitting somewhere filled with people I can’t recognize, and there I stay, deaf and dumb, until he comes back to get me. His warm voice reads me letters from people I don’t recall, and replies to them in my place. Sometimes he wraps his arms around me, holding me in despair, but, although his body is warm and soft, I keep frozen and dead on the inside, unable of words or thoughts, and completely empty of feelings.

The wind that blows is cold, pulling my mind away from questions I cannot answer and, lost, I look around me.

The faraway landscape is a horizon painted in fire and gold, and it’s beautiful, as I have the honor to be present at the time of death of yet another day ... and what a magnificent death it is!

And yet, I can’t seem to recall how I got there, or if I’ve ever been there before. The pain that pierces through my chest surprises me as much as the tears from before. I turn back, startled and blinking in disbelief at the shadow that keeps watching me. For an instant I can’t hear anything, not even the constant roar of the wind that quickly freezes my skin. And, unconsciously, I squeeze the notebook still lost in my hands.

In truth ... In truth I’ve been to this place before and, with an agonizing pain that steals my breath away, I recall those same tiles covered with a luxurious green carpet in which small, delicate white flowers bloomed. I feel I’m at the brink of madness as images burst into my mind all at once, leaving me with the sensation that my eyes are on fire, my brain slowly melting down. I see him standing right there, in front of me. I feel his fingers touch me, ever so lightly, and I hear his voice whispering in my ear, his cold soft lips over my skin, his insanely burning kiss over my chest.

And suddenly everything goes quiet again.

My breathing fills the air, too fast, too labored, and yet this time I’m sure it belongs to me. That I’m really alive, and not dead. And that the pungent pain that tortures me is, in fact, proof that my heart keeps beating.

My eyes get blurry again and I cry in all my pain. I raise my gaze but the shadow is nowhere to be seen and, in deep agony, I know that, in truth, he was never there.

A stronger blast of wind makes me shiver, reminding me of his cold touch and I hear his voice in a whisper, tearing my being into pieces, destroying it completely. ’I declare our Contract as invalid. In return, I’ll claim what it’s rightfully mine ... and, once your life is over, I’ll come back to take your Soul.’

I turn back, startled again, knowing beforehand that the only thing I can really hear is the wind, and the flaming horizon captures my attention.

I’m suddenly calm. Not numb, or insensible, or apathetic. It’s as if I could be many people at the same time, each one with its own voice and, suddenly, everyone said the same, in a complete mutual agreement.

I take a step forward and climb on the ledge. I see myself sitting there, right beside my feet, laughing as I take packets of cookies from inside a bag. My expression seems to glow ... my smile is real ... and I know that that girl is me, and yet I can’t recognize her at all.

I raise my head and take a deep breath, the cold air hurting my lungs. I hug my notebook even tighter, my one and only treasure, filled with enchantments, rituals and evocations that never worked, the same ones I tried night after night, every time I could get a glimpse of sanity ... all for nothing ... all of them useless.

I smile. In the end there’s nothing left, and so there’s nothing to lose.

“Ishanyx, this Soul that belongs to you, you can come and claim it now,” I whisper to the merciless, roaring wind and simply ... let myself fall ...