She stumbles and falls as each ragged breath tears itself from her worn lungs in a burst of new pain. Her chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself. The one thing that held it together was her heart and the steady reassuring thrum of the organ. But that had been torn out long before she ran out into the old, dark and snowy field in search of her old friend, Death. The hole is still there, the cover of fake smiles, false laughter and tears slowly melting away like spun sugar. Blood drips from the hole, soaking her shirt and turning the material an inky black. The dark trail of blood that marks a path through the snow lets them know where she went. They follow her, those daemons who have no faces, and whisper into her ear as she runs
stumbles
trips
falls
right into the welcoming embrace of Death.
