We arrive at floor 66 in silence. Roland and I are in a hurry now, as being caught in the hallway on such a high floor means absolute death. Still, though, we can't be hasty and create noise, as that will only end up attracting the attention of the tenets. We're quite lucky the elevators are designed to not make a sound when they stop, which I feel is quite different from normal elevators. In any case, we're on the floor marked by the keycard, so we need to get a move on.

With muffled steps, Roland and I quickly advance through the hallway. At this point, I've recovered back to normal, so I can drop the confused act and do things how I usually do. Let hope that this is the last time I fall unconscious. Seriously, such frequent lapses in awakeness are really not good for my health. Door 39 is up ahead, and we stop just before it. Thankfully nobody left their rooms while we were creeping down the hallway, so we're relatively safe now. Roland shoots me a look and I give him the keycard I have been holding on to. Taking a step back, I watch as Roland uses one hand to adjust his ax into a position where he can use it immediately after the door opens, and use the other to reach out to swipe the card.

Maybe I have let my guard down, assuming that since we are in the home-stretch of the objective, nothing can happen. Yes, that's probably the reason. We have both gotten careless, even though unexplainable things have been happening. Even though nowhere we go is truly safe. Perhaps I've started to take comfort in Roland's mere presence. Perhaps I feel as if I've found safety. It's probably for those exact reasons - that we are taken unaware.

Before either of us even have time to react, the door to room 41 opens, and a mass moving too fast to even see properly bursts out and latches onto Roland's body. Just as I recognize the current danger, the thing retreats back into the room, dragging the stunned man with it. The door slides shut, perfectly in time with the dropping of Roland's ax as it bangs heavily against the floor. I blink. Then I blink again. I slowly breathe out a sigh, my breath is careful and even. My heart is still. My head is clear. My thoughts are linear. My body is cold. There's no way to get into room 39. Roland took the keycard with him when he was dragged away. I don't have enough time to go back to my room, not without risking the very real possibility of running into a tenet. I have no weapons to defend myself, other than Roland's ax. I reach down and lift up the handle. The best I can do with this is drag it, which will be both noisy and time-consuming. My only choice is to follow them. If I can rescue Roland, he can kill the tenet, and we can camp in their room until it's safe. I'll need to bring the weapon with me, which while still loud, will be more useful in the overall plan.

I reach out and try room 39's door handle. As expected, it doesn't budge. This ultimately finalizes the plan.

I carefully drag the ax behind me as I make my way to follow the pair. What should I do when I get to the door though? How do I get inside? Do I knock? Try to break the lock? I look at the door, naturally not expecting to see a lucky way inside. Perhaps my critical thinking has been rewarded though, as I truly make a lucky break. Honestly, this very well might just cash out all of the good deeds I've done in the life I no longer remember. The door to room 41 is cracked. It must not have closed completely when the stranger was dragging Roland away. In that case, I now have a way inside.

Slowly I push the door open, trying my best to quietly drag the ax behind me. I won't be able to take this with me, so I should lay it down inside the room, and use the handle to crack the door behind me. The last thing I want is to be completely trapped inside a room with a monster. The door slowly eases open, and I finally get a good look inside. It's as if the building itself is rotting from the inside out. The floor is moldy and cracked, causing my foot to sink slightly the instant I take a step forward. The walls are caked with mud, covered in rot and insects. The wallpaper, which is visible in certain patches, is curled and stained. Its flowery patterns have been soiled and are decayed. Hanging overhead, naked bulbs swing from bare wires, flashing the hallway erratically with white light.

I take a few more steps, the floor making squelching sounds beneath my shoes. Following my impromptu plan, I lay the ax down on the floor, and leave the door open just a crack with the weapon serving as a wedge. At least in the case that I'm unable to rescue Roland, now I'll have a reason to fight on. I now understand myself well enough to know that I readily give up when the situation is hopeless, Anna taught me that hard lesson.

Hands now free and body significantly more mobile, I'm now left with a seemingly endless hallway stretching out before me. At regular intervals, I can count the strobing lights, but no matter how far I look, the same scenery remains. I'm suddenly questioning the real size of this building. How is it possible for a single room to be so big? I force down the curiosity, the fear of going insane bubbling at the forefront of my mind. With no other open, I begin to walk. Time is of the essence, so I move faster than when I was in the hotel hallway. Now the only thing I can hope for is that Roland hasn't been eaten yet. If I were to willingly venture into the belly of this beast, only to discover that my efforts were in vain, I'd have to kill myself out of shame of my own stupidity.

Time seems to stretch onwards, and I feel as if this never-ending corridor is a futile abyss with no escape. I have no idea how long I've been walking at this point. I have yet to see any signs of an alternate path, not even a room. Is this really someone's home? How are they even able to get anything done? What should I do? This whole thing reeks, and I'm not referring to the stench that surrounds me. How is it possible for a hallway to be this long? When I look behind me, the never-ending hallway stares back. It'd be so easy to get confused and lost, even though all I'm doing is moving forward. My sanity feels drained. Honestly, why do I even bother? What's the point of this? My legs hurt. My head hurts. I'm tired. I'm so fucking sick of this! Why?! What's the point of this?! This is stupid?! Which goddamn idiot thought it was a good idea to make a hallway like this?!

As my emotions rise and my irritability achieves new heights, a wave of calm washes over me, as if a switch has been flipped. Wait... What if there's a trick here? It's not an impossibility, after all, some people can turn into bugs for crying out loud. Yeah, what if this entire time, I've been walking in circles? Who says the hallway is straight at all? Honestly, I'm at my wit's end. I need a solution to this problem, and I'm really sick of walking endlessly. In that case, I might as well...

I close my eyes and spin around in circles, quickly becoming dizzy. Maybe I've lost my mind, or maybe I'm so bored that I need to make a stupid decision to distract me. Whatever the reason, I completely lose my sense of direction. Now truly lost, I walk forward, feet tapping as I'm flashed constantly in flickering white light.

Almost immediately, I notice a change. Up ahead, I see a door. It's made of wood and hangs crooked in its frame. I notice the deep cracks on its surface as if someone tried to kick it from the inside of the room. The wood is rotting, much like the rest of the hallway. Walking closer, I can see what appears to be metal plating peeking out from between the cracks, bent and dented. After walking a ways, I arrive in front of the door. I press into it with my palm, testing how tight it is in its frame. Surprisingly, the door eases right open, as if it was never locked in the first place. Peeking past the slight gap, I see a dull green glow distantly in the room. At least it isn't another hallway. The realization causes me to unconsciously heave a sigh of relief. I really am sick of endlessly walking down unchanging scenery.

Pushing the door open, I quickly slip inside. Once inside, I'm swallowed by darkness. The only light is the distant green spotlight shining at the end of the room. I begin walking towards it, left with no other option. As I near the light, I notice rows of huddled figures bent and trembling, all tightly packed beneath the light. At first, I'm hesitant, unsure whether I want to investigate or turn back. I inch closer to get a better view and am shocked at the actual size of the figures. The group seems to be composed solely of children. Their naked bodies are malnourished and dirty. Their skin is covered in grime and blood and is a sickly pale that makes them look like ghosts. They are desperately bunching together under the dim light, a fact that doesn't escape me, immediately causing me to worry that there's something in the darkness that I can't see. I call out to them, my voice is as sweet as can be. There's really no other choice for me, as I'm in desperate need of information, and I'd rather place my trust in children than any adults I might run into.

"Hey!"

I make sure that my voice is soft enough to not shock them to their core but loud enough that they can hear me. My efforts might as well have been in vain, however, since they fiercely flinch and huddle closer together. Heaving a soft sigh, I draw closer, noticing that my footsteps sound like I'm walking through a puddle. After looking down, I see nothing, only an inky blackness. It's too dark to see anything other than the single light the children are huddled under. The children are packed together like birds. They're numerous, around 20 all crammed into a single space. I can't help but wonder why they would put themselves through such discomfort. What is it about this room that causes them to seek refuge under a single dull light?

"Hey! What are you doing?"

I raise my voice slightly higher, expecting it to stir them. Strangely, the noise comes out muted and muffled, like something is swallowing the sound the instant it leaves my mouth. The children flinch, and eventually one of them raises their heads. It's a little boy with dirt-colored hair and tear-stained cheeks. He glares at me with hate-filled eyes and hisses in a wavering voice filled with fear and loathing.

"Shut up! If you draw his attention, we'll all be next!"

After that, the boy lowers his head even further and hides from my view. I say nothing in response, obviously. After all, I was just told not to speak. Let's break down the provided message. "Shut up" naturally means I need to be quiet, but does that refer to my movement as well? Am I in danger if I walk loudly? Or only if I speak? Looking at everyone trying not to move, I'll assume he's meaning any noise at all. "If you draw his attention". So, is the person I'm after in this room? Or is he somewhere else? The fact that there are people other than the owner in someone's room is something I noticed but unconsciously ignored. Now that I think about it, this is the first time such a thing has happened. For some reason, I was under the impression multiple people weren't allowed to stay in a single room. Naturally, such reasoning is absurd. So either the owner or some third party is here. They'll attack me if I make too much noise, and they seem to prey on these children, going by the line "We'll all be next!"

I look away from the shivering group and turn my gaze to the endless row of green lights forming a sickening path. For some reason I'm just noticing them peeking out from the darkness. I'm sure they weren't there before. I'm sure there must be something at the end of that path, so there's nothing I can do but follow it. I can only pray that I don't walk into any trouble. I try my best to move quietly, though my feet make unpleasant squelching noises no matter how light or hard I step. It's less like I'm walking through a puddle at this point, and more like I'm wading through a swamp. A swamp would be an apt description for the feel of this entire room, I'd say. From the moldy color scheme to the rotting scenery, nothing else but "swamp" comes to mind. In such a case, it's incredibly difficult to walk silently through a swamp. I can feel the hostile gazes of the children as they stare at me, their beady eyes burning holes into my flesh.

I'm once again unsure how long I walk. The rows of spotlights all blend in my memory into a single amalgamation, and I lose track of which lights I've already been to. The tar-filled room, the nauseating green spotlights, the heavy stench of mold and rot all overwhelm my senses and blurs my consciousness. My feet are heavy, and they suck into the ground with a wet squelch. It's strains my legs to move on, and I feel as if I'm wading through caramel. I feel the urge to vomit out of pure discomfort.

Finally, I reach the end of the path. The seemingly endless line of spotlights, each one with a group of children huddled underneath, went on for ages. My condition clears at the glimmer of hope before me. Thankfully there's a door at the end of this expanse, otherwise, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. This door should lead me to the owner of this room. After all, I haven't seen him during the entire time I've been here, yet the children speak of him as if he is always nearby. If that is the case, and he is just beyond this door, then I need to open it with the utmost caution.

I lower myself into a squat the instant I approach the door. Placing a hand on the solid surface, I make note that this door is probably the first door in this place that's in decent condition. I reach out and grasp the doorknob. The metal is cold to the touch, unnervingly so. With slow deliberate movements, I twist the knob, softly and gently. Soon, there's a click, and the door pops open a small bit.

Even though it is just a soft click, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I freeze. Whatever is beyond the door may have heard it too, so I can't make any sudden movements. My thighs burn from staying in a squatting position for so long, but it's for the best. If I were to stand like normal, there's a chance someone could use a weapon and estimate where my vital organs are, killing me from the other side of the door in an instant. At least in this position, they will miss if they try to attack my head or chest. It's a futile attempt of avoiding danger. One that I'm not even sure is useful, considering someone's Stigma may allow them to see through walls, but at least the act brings me comfort.

Enough time has passed and there's been no sign of movement from the other side. I carefully ease the door open and peek through the crack. The room is a lot brighter than all the previous places. The interior is decorated to look like a kitchen, with multiple fridges and freezers all around the room. I spot a long counter with a wide array of knives, forks, and spoons all laid out in rows, available for easy use. Placed in the center of the room is a large metal table. The table seems like it would be used to butcher animals, but for some reason, Roland is strapped to it, naked and unconscious. I say unconscious simply because I can see no visible wounds, meaning he isn't confirmed dead.

The sight of Roland in such a vulnerable position brings a shock to my mind, and I stand frozen, my face buried in the crack of the doorway, unmoving. Really, I never thought I see such a scene in my life. Roland, the unhinged madman that wields a massive battleax that he pried from the dead fingers of a monster. The very same Roland that gave up on food and sleep simply to be on alert 24/7. Roland, who values humanity above all else, yet doesn't hesitate to destroy monsters that relinquished that very same humanity. I may not have known Roland for long- No, it's rather strange that I grew so attached to him in these few short days. But nonetheless, his presence has become something of a rock that I grapple from. His presence has always been an assurance that no matter how dangerous the situation, as long as Roland is there, I'll make it out alive. The thoughts I'm having are realizations only now. I realize now that I took his presence for granted. It's obvious that a mere human is weak in a world of monsters, yet for some reason, I thought his power infallible.

At this very moment though, my shock can only be described as a blessing in disguise. One of the doors at the far end of the room swings open, and a lump of fat waddles through. Had I been clear in mind I would have attempted to act immediately and would have rushed into the room the instant I opened the door, only to get caught halfway through freeing Roland.

The lump of fat appears to be human on the surface, but I know all too well how looks can be deceiving. The man's bare stomach jiggles with every step as he approaches Roland. I can't tell if the thing is wearing any clothes, as its rolls of fat cover its genitals, though it's not like that's any more pleasant. On his head is a yellow-stained chef's hat, and in his left hand is a cleaver. I see the future development of the situation at a mere glance, and a pit forms in my stomach. Time grinds to a halt and my brain analyzes with inhuman coldness.

The question: What should my immediate course of action be? I can open the door and take the man by surprise, wrestling the knife from his hands and attacking him with it. That won't work, the tiny voice says from beyond the wall. Right, this thing isn't human. Looking back to the start of this whole incident, the reason Roland was taken unaware was because it had moved too fast. So physically attacking isn't an option, not right at this moment.

Do I need to save Roland? How important is he to my survival? The voice scoffs and remains silent... Without Roland, I'd have nowhere to go. Roland's guidance has given me the means to apply myself. Though I don't know the reason why, besides not wanting to be eaten, I can't remember a cause that'd make me want to leave this hotel. Yet I want to leave nonetheless. Roland's goal overlaps with mine, add that to his rich experience and knowledge and he's a valuable companion to keep close. All in all, this means I need to save him. Unless I find a way to apply myself without Roland's guidance, I have no choice but to require him.

Going by the current position of the man, as well as reading his intentions, it seems this thing wishes to make Roland into food. Who is this food for? Is he making it for himself? Going by physical appearance alone it's not strange to think that he'd wish to eat more. But there's also the presence of the children behind me. Why have a "farm" of "livestock" if you're not going to use it? So could he be using Roland's flesh to feed the children? Why though? Does he wish to grow strong by consuming their Stigma's? Or does he simply want fattened children to eat? Whatever the reason, my goal at the current moment shouldn't be stopping Roland's murder in all due haste, but rather delaying it. In that case, things become simpler.

If I no longer need to act immediately, as in throwing everything to the wind and fighting to drag Roland away, then I can take a bit of leeway to set up more pieces to distract "the chef". Chefs are artists. They won't just use any part of the body as food. At least, that's my intuition when observing the state of the monster before me. He seems like the type that would take care to only feed the best to his pets. After all, he plans on eating the children when they're fattened. What farmer poisons their future source of food? I also doubt that a monster would put its prey out of its misery. I can place my bets on Roland being tortured for a short period.

What are my cards, now that I know I need to draw the chef away before he completely kills Roland? The most obvious and useful tool I can think of is the children behind me. They're the wildcard that I need to use properly. The voice from beyond the wall hums in agreement. What do I know about the children? They're starving. They're terrified of the chef, or some other unseen variable, though I doubt there is one. They're collected in groups. They possess intelligence and have a desire for survival.

What is their controlling emotion? Fear. What is stronger? Their fear or hunger? Considering they're currently starving, I'd say their fear overpowers their hunger. The children outnumber the chef by hundreds. If I can get them to overcome their fear, and fight on my behalf, I can easily survive without needing to take too much risk fighting him myself. How do I get the children to attack, and likely eat the chef? I need them to overcome their fear, if for a brief moment. How though? You don't really need to think that hard, do you? No, I don't. The answer is obvious. If I can get the chef to show a weakened state, the starving children, children that understand how to hide and blend in with the crowd to survive, will pounce on the opportunity presented to them. The children are opportunists, I can sense it in my heart. All I need to do is light the match, they'll bring the explosives to it.

Time begins to crawl forward, and my eyes draw into focus. Without a second of hesitation, my body acts out the plan I formulated in a fraction of a millisecond. The requirement for this operation is stealth. My opponent is faster than me and stronger than me. He doesn't seem to have any extraordinary senses, besides maybe eyesight, going by the fact that he neither smelled me nor heard my ruffled breathing the instant he walked through the door. In that case, all I need to do is stay out of sight, and stay as quiet as possible.

His back is to me, which means his back is to the door. He raises the cleaver as I slowly ease the door open, allowing the children behind me to get a view of the interior of the room. I move out of Roland's estimated field of view the instant the cleaver slams down. An anguished scream tears through the silent air, and I move forward, taking advantage of the short distraction. I don't even need to check to know that the blade is buried in the strapped Roland's right shin. By analyzing the position of the knife just before it went down, I can estimate the area it would have landed. A loud snap of bone confirms my theory. I'm unsure of the strength of the chef, but I can assume that it is an easy task to chop through human bone. Roland's leg should be gone, but I couldn't care less at this current moment.

My destination is the counter of silverware. Using Roland's screams as cover, I'm able to reach the counter fairly quickly, grabbing a long and thin knife from the wide selection. My body moves as minutely as possible, not sparing even an iota of energy. I must accomplish this task as smoothly as possible. Knife in hand, I shift directions and sneak closer to the chef. Roland is awake now, so I pay attention to where his eyes are. If he happens to stare at me, it'll probably draw the chef's attention, which means instant death or horrific torture.

I'm unsure as to why only Roland was taken. If I were to guess, then either the chef doesn't care for female flesh, or he will simply hunt me later at his leasure. Whatever the case, I should consider myself lucky that he seems to have more fat than brains. This animal is truly an example of overwheming power being controlled by sheer stupidity. Another scream tears through the room and Roland's other leg is severed. By this point, things are moving fast, and the plan is proceeding without a problem. I'm directly behind the chef, stuck in that same uncomfortable squatting position, knife gripped in both hands. I need to act. Now! The instant I'm poised to strike, the chef begins to turn around. My brain tries to fire again, but my mental state at this point is fraying. I don't have the peace of mind to analyze and debate the best possible solution to this problem. I simply know that I need to act immediately before the chef either spots me or moves out of range. Throwing fear to the side, I viciously push myself to the chef's feet. Carrying my body weight, and calmly maneuvering as precisely as possible, my knife cleanly severs the chef's Achilles tendon.

A surprised yelp echo through my ears. The instant I hear the noise, I understand I have underestimated my opponent. Despite all my planning, I have failed to take into account a clear logical fact. It's something that simply slipped my mind and instantly gave the chef an edge over me. Truly, I have underestimated the capabilities of his body.

When cooking, knives and fat don't mix well. The fat dulls the blade, and it is rather difficult to make a clean cut. This chef's body is disgustingly obese. The mere sight of his jiggling rolls revolts me, and due to that, I must have blocked out as much information as possible on the topic of body fat. The cause of my present panic is that I simply didn't cut deep enough. Despite using my full efforts, I am unable to completely sever the tendon. I can't forget that the tendon itself is not so easy to cut. Add its strength to the inadequate piercing power due to the grasp the fat has on the blade, and all I am able to do is imbed the blade into the tendon.

Is it enough?! The thought tears a frenzy through my mind, and I fight desperately to create even the slightest edge. Perhaps truly taken by surprise, or simply dull of mind, the chef hasn't really acted yet. At most he's wobbled and is leaning against the table. I need to get him on the ground. Thinking on my feet, I throw myself to his, wrapping my body around his ankles, our flesh touching. I feel my skin crawl, and an extreme disgust wracks my body, but I shut off that part of my mind for the moment. With nimble limbs, I stretch my legs out and try to tangle myself underneath him. I twist and spin, my arms and legs tugging and pulling on his own sturdy legs, my entire body twisting and dragging the knife around in his ankle. In one final push and after I nearly completely spin around, I drag the grunting chef to the ground. Even though he's over quadruple my weight, he can't fight against the force of gravity.

There's a bang, and pain covers my entire body. Air rushes out of my lungs, and I struggle to breathe. I'm drowning. In an ocean of fat, I fight for a breath of air, my desperation is sending my figure thrashing about. Surely it's an unsightly visage. Despite my panic, fear, and disgust, a surge of accomplishment rushes into my heart. After all, it's no longer Roland who's screaming. My head finally pops out from underneath the man, and I fully witness a sea of hatred.

The children surge in like a tide, squeezing through the door with creaking bones, clawing at each other as they swarm towards the sprawled chef. Those that have reached him possess no hesitation. They burrow into his flesh like insects, teeth glistening a yellow light as they tear chunks of meat and fat from the screaming body of their captor. Overextended intestines are dragged from the stomach, and grey brain matter is scooped from the bashed skull. Scarlet sprays every surface of the room, and iron fills the air. I watch as the chef's Stigma activates, and his body begins to expand and heal rapidly, but before anything worthwhile comes from the counterattack, the children tunnel into his stomach and feast from the inside out. The chefs body bloats like a balloon, and more children continue to tunnel inside, making wet tearing sounds as they feast on the continuously healing flesh.

Maddened eyes reflecting hunger and fear all lock onto the single target. They number over the hundreds, and this room is incapable of holding everyone. Despite that, the children continue to pile in, climbing atop each other as they stretch the chefs body to it's limit. They reach the ceiling, and are pressed tightly against it. Still, they merely scream in pain and hunger and lunge for the fading corpse endlessly. I feel a bit of sadness towards the children that arrive too late with no way to vent, despite understanding that their means of "venting" is cannibalism.

I back away slowly, as if I am facing a wild beast. I have little room for movement, and the maddened children climb atop each other a mere few feet away. I glance over at Roland, who's weakly letting out shuttering breaths. As I suspected, his legs are both severed. Black blood pools out from the stumps, and I instantly understand that without proper treatment, he will definitely bleed out. The moment I steel myself to act quickly, ready to take on the risk of drawing to the attention of the children, a sudden sing-song voice shreds any semblance of urgency. That in itself is most horrifying.

"Oh, Wallis~! I've come to collect you~!"

The door, opposite the one the chef had entered through, is pushed open. Entering the room is a middle-aged woman. Her black hair possesses gray streaks, adding a type of volume to her locks. Covering her body is a paint-stained apron, a wide array of colors decorate both her outfit and her face. The lady's eyes are a dark gray, presently clouded in shock as a strangled cry erupts from her throat the instant she sees the interior of the room. She takes a second to compose herself and instantly replaces her shocked expression with one of sorrow. I clearly see, however, a dark gleaming in her eyes the instant she catches a peek of the hollowed-out corpse of this supposed Wallis, as well as the mountain of scream children tear at each other in pure insanity.

"Well, deary me... What have you done?! I can't believe it..."

Slowly, she turns her eyes to me, and I feel terror rush down my spine, greater than anything previously experienced. The way she looks at me is reminiscent of an engineer looking at his greatest creation. I see unfathomable excitement.

"You... You must be the cause of all this... Goodness, I find this hard to believe. Wallis is dead? How could such a thing happen? It's not like the fool was weak, by any means. After all, his Stigma gave him an unfathomably malleable body. I find it shocking that he never even finished off the main attacker..."

She speaks as she stares at me, a wide grin spreading across her lips. I finally realize the cause of this unnerving tension. It's silent. I break eye contact and turn to look in the direction of the body. The world freezes to a halt as I feel an impossible shock. The world, originally filled with reds and blacks, is now awash with color. Blue, yellow, green. Bright paint decorates the room, looking as if a rainbow committed suicide. Every single surface now possesses color. The paint seems to breathe, too. It bulges and exhales, the patterns twisting and shimmering. Where did so much paint come from? Where did the children go? My brain can only ask such simplistic questions. The questions are immediately answered a mere second later, however.

A child stumbles through the door. This one I recognize. It's the very same child that spoke harshly to me when I first entered this pit of despair. I watch in a mix of fascination and terror as the child grinds to a halt at the sight of the interior. He tries to yell at me, who is simply standing there staring at him. Yet, it's as if he's incapable of speech. In the next instant, bubbling paint erupts from his mouth and pours onto the floor. What follows next is remarkably similar to a balloon popping, only this time the pop is in dead silence. The boy's body swells up to a hideous level. His eyes burst from his face, and from his sockets pours blue paint. I watch as his skin splits open with a gleaming red and green paint sprays from the gash. Then, a burst of color. The boy's flesh vaporizes and the paint splatters into the air, adding yet another layer onto the walls.

I simply stare.

Dumbstruck.

"Quite the show, yes? Really, I must thank you~! I had come to see what would happen if I popped little Walles, yet I never realized he had such a great number of toys. The man was a glutton, that's for sure ha ha ha~!"

She raises a stained finger to her lips as she scrutinizes me. Her colorless eyes all the more abnormal the longer I stare.

"You're quite pretty, yes? I do wonder what color that body of yours would make upon my walls... No, no. I shouldn't act on such base instincts. As a civilized woman, I must thank you for such a delightful gift. In which case, as thanks-"

She winks at me and instantly my body is filled with pain. I cough, and glimmering silver leaks from my lips.

"Ohhh, what a waste. Never before have I seen such a color... Still, I shall give you the gift of suffering. Without a heart, your body shall wither away. Do enjoy the experience, deary. Rarely does one get such a beautifully slow death~!"

With that, the woman gives a cheery hum and gazes proudly over the carnage cast about the room for a final time. Then, she spins on her heel and swaggers out through the door, shutting it behind her. Black pants, a white shirt, black sliders. Her appearance is plain from the back. I'd have never expected she'd be such a monster... I drop to my knees, letting out painful coughs. This time I truly am drowning. My fingers tremble as I try to wipe my lips, and tears leak from my left eye. The reality of the situation finally dawns on me. Ah, I feel so unfulfilled. I don't want to die here! Why? Why must it be like this?! How could such a thing, such absurdity happen on a mere whim?! What were the chances that such a monster would stroll through that door?!

"Augh-!"

I can't even take in a breath as I sink lower to the ground. It feels like it's been forever, yet I know all too well that it's only been a few moments. I don't understand how I'm still awake. After all, the instant I lost my heart, my brain should have shut off. I should be unconscious right now.

"Mary..."

That name again... My eyes flick over to Roland, yet he's simply blinking in and out of consciousness. It's been far too long, he's surely about to bleed out. It's a lost cause. I died for nothing.

"Mary...!"

Where...?

"You're mine! Come back, Mary!"

Where is that coming from?

"You said you'd be with me forever!"

My body moves on its own. I can't even think. It drags itself closer and closer to Roland, inching towards the table. Reality has faded away. I no longer perceive time.

"Why...? Why did you betray me?! What have I done?!"

More tears leak from my shimmering eye, like rain in a glowing city.

"Please... Come back..."

I lean against the table. It's cold, and wet. Slowly, I crawl up, my fingers slipping, slick with paint. Such a vivid blue. My arms tremble in exhaustion, yet I feel no desire to give up. I waver like a leaf in a hurricane. Finally, I see him. Roland's rugged face is mere inches from mine. His eyes blink open. They're clouded in confusion and hope. Such emotions, have I seen such emotions from him before? Tiredly, I draw my face closer to his. I watch his lips move.

"Mary..."

His flesh enters my mouth.

Ah... Was tragedy always so sweet...?