Consistency. Stability. Control. This is what Elysia struggles for as she fights the wickedness that is growing within her. In a supernatural world where there are many expectations of her, to be submissive or to fight, Elysia wants nothing more than to find peace.

But with a friend lost in a darkness only she can bring light to and a storm of chaos brewing in the near distance, peace -it seems - is not an option.

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I dreamed of the corpses of those I had plunged into that darkness I once feared most. Skin and limbs roiled in an ocean of black, gasps crying from their lips each time they were able to surface before submerging back into those waves. I wanted to push away their angry spirits, but I was trapped in that darkness with them. I drowned in their spirits, tasting them like fine wine and refusing to admit the rush that followed, but reveled in it regardless.

I knew, beyond this caged arena of tormented hunter souls, that more spirits awaited my attention. But all I could feel was the grasp of Zachary Monet painting my mother's blood on my hands and hear his laughter bubbling among the sea of carcasses.

The dead communicated to me through channels; ones I couldn't change with a flick of a switch. Not long ago, their words made some sense and the images carried a form of logic. Now, behind the chaos of agonizing souls, the channel was distorted and incomprehensible. Once, I could vaguely reach for that channel and gain a connection, but now there was only static.

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