Run!

Father always told me not to stray too far from the light. I always listened to him, of course. Beyond the lit areas of the house, I can still hear the wails - the cries of those that came before me. There are some voices that I recognize, that I really don't want to recognize. Father always said that those things took people away, and if you ever saw them again to run. It didn't matter who was taken, it didn't matter when, or why, or how - just run.

I took his advice to heart. Every time I would see someone that I used to know out in that damned mist... I ran. They pleaded, they begged, they cried my name out, desperately from The Gloom. Every time I looked back, all I would see were dark, purple eyes crying black ichorous tears. I would see the veins in their necks bulging outwards, filled with a dark substance visible through their pale skin. Their arms were always twisted, broken, or mangled in some horrid way. Some of them had legs, others were little more than floating torsos that trailed fog behind them as they silently stalked the darkness.

The only time I never ran, though, was when Aaron was taken. One of the Silhouettes broke through a window in the house; I could see its arm start to burn in the bright light of the kitchen as it grasped through at the air. I watched, horrified and paralyzed in shock, as it bent and contorted its body to fit through the narrow slat in the house. It was my Aunt Fulranna, still wearing what was left of her night gown when she was taken two years prior. Her ragged, oily hair fell across her pale face as she fell through. She... IT scrambled upstairs on all fours, broken and hunched. I finally came to my senses and grabbed the Bulb in the kitchen.

When I finally got up the stairs, it had already broken down the old door to my brother's room. Inside, it had bitten straight into his neck, killing him during his sleep. I couldn't help myself - I fell to my knees as I watched that Silhouette drag my brother's lifeless body from its bed and out of his room's window. When I heard that sickening *thud* characteristic of a body falling out of a second story window, I was once again shocked back to my senses. With heavy tears in my eyes, I ran downstairs and unmounted Father's old heirloom; a moon touched scimitar. I would not let him go like that.

I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran after that awful, twisted specter that was spiriting away my brother. I could just barely see the outline of her visage near the corrupted apple tree that Father told me never to eat from. I held the moon touched weapon aloft, trying my damnedest not to shake and tremble. Under the sister moons' light, I swear that blade shined brighter than it ever had before. In a blind rage fueled by shock, grief, and memories, I charged her... IT.

With both eyes closed, the blade somehow found its mark - I had plunged it straight through her shadow-tainted heart. I wanted to speak, to say something... to reach out to someone that was no longer there. Instead, I watched as those violet, malice-filled pins of light behind her eyes fade to darkness. Her body began to sag under its own weight, and I dropped along with her. Collapsed there with my dead kin, all I could manage to do in the moment was rest a quivering palm on his forehead. I wouldn't let her take you, not in a million years.

The last thing I remember was getting hit in the back of the head by something cold. Where was I now, though? I seemed to have woken among the stars, and I watched them wink at me far off in the distance. I stood up in this dark, chilly place and gave a look around. Below me, under my feet, was... me. My hair was all matted up, tangled, and full of crimson that ruined my typical golden hues. My hazel eyes lie there, empty as can be just looking back at me as if to question why I'm standing over her - me. I felt tears well up behind my eyes, and I felt the usual stuffiness attributed with crying set in somewhere deep in my nose. I died, didn't I? A voice echoed around me then, and gave an answer to a question I never asked;

I looked around wildly for a source of that honeyed voice before landing on a figure standing behind me. I could have sworn he wasn't there before. Shaking my head to clear the tears, I could finally see the one standing in this space with me. The man was tall, slender, and wore dark leather armor. Around his shoulders there was a great mantle seemingly made of feathers of different colors, though they were mostly black as pitch. Under one arm he carried a massive book filled with aged pages, and a long bookmark seemed to flow out and onto the floor. The man wore a mask that covered his whole face, and it seemed like it took the form of a raven. Two, red eyes peered at me from beneath his facade, and I somehow felt more at ease. I don't think I have to run from this one. I don't think I have to run at all anymore.