He walked through the dark streets of Nuu’reil. The city was painted black beneath the clouds of night, reflecting the melancholy gloom of the its etched stone. The pathways were dark under the sky, but the lanterns and lights of the taverns and inns shined brighter from it, too. The man wandered through the streets. They were busy. No, no, they were quite empty- he wasn’t sure. His mind was already beginning to drift again. Which world was he in? Was he even still alive? To him, there was no such thing as rest. And there certainly wasn’t a place to call reality.

     Lucrys stumbled down the cracking pavement, his eyes distant and wet. In his mind, he was sitting, rocking himself feverishly. Fearfully. Every turn onto a new road made the world more foreign, more distant; led him farther from reality. Each lantern – rather, searchlight – reminded him of a new story he’d desperately tried to hide. He feared those memories. His nails clicked against the light wind. He stepped forward, stumbling into a drunken man. But to Lucrys, he didn’t really look like a drunken man.

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     “Welcome home, Lucrys,” the voices echoed around me. I remembered it. Sometimes I would forget, but this time I remembered it. I walked toward the spot the tavern had been in. That’s where the first one came. I hate these demons. They always come out of nowhere. So very suddenly. They want to kill me. But I came prepared this time. That’s why I had this knife, and the blood of the demon, swirling about my hands. Blood? I wasn’t expecting them to bleed. To do something that seemed so human… “You don’t always get to have your way with me,” I screamed at it. I’m sure I laughed a little. Laughed at that wretched thing finally halting its gruesome movements. Finally plummeting from its vile existence, where it tried to scrape off my skin. This time, I’d scrape off his skin instead. It was a sickening thought, but why not go at screwing what always screwed me. I put my hand around its nape and forced it downward. The strange crack of bone beneath my palms was akin to paradise. As close as I could get, at least. Bone?

     I heard a loud screech behind me. I turned to see a demon backing away slowly. As though it wouldn’t dare harm me. Not the way they usually did. This time, they would fear me! The demon ran frantically, two smaller ones scurrying beside it. But I wouldn’t let them get away. They had to pay for what they’d done! I caught a smaller one easily, quickly forcing my crude tool through the spot a human throat would exist. Human? The tall, slender one came next. It was just as easy. It had spindly wires flowing behind its head. It looked terrified when I first caught it, but it seemed to laugh with me as the breath erupted from its body in a cackling gurgle. Breath?

     Footsteps echoed around me. I was in that maze. I never wanted to explore it. I never wanted to be here. I always feared it; the way the walls mimicked a city, but stretched on forever into that pungent darkness. I rubbed my eye. The footsteps were coming from that last demon. It was just beyond the corner. Or maybe it was playing tricks on me. Maybe it was far into the maze, making sounds all around. Trying to trap me so it could kill me. I’d just have to kill it first. I could feel my nails clicking as I stepped forward. Was I running? Or was I walking? Whatever. The searchlights weren’t near me. I could make it in time. I could hear my nails clicking. It was coming from my left hand. I couldn’t feel the movement, but that hand was tingling. As though it were numb. I hated that feeling. I hated the sound! But I couldn’t stop my fingers from moving. It played and echoed around me. Like vehement drums. Like those violent footsteps. Like the pounding in my head that never, ever goes away. Like Amillara’s damn heartbeat in my memories where I’d lay my head to her chest. There it was again! The sound like thunder. It just wouldn’t stop. Each click was another echoing step. Over, over. Over, over. Over and over, over and over, and over and over. It stopped… There. I could see it. Sitting, a cloth covering its eyes. It was smiling at me. She said my name and chuckled. I could feel my heart burst, both out of rage and that feeling I would always get when they punctured my skin; when my head felt dizzy and oceans appeared. That same feeling I’d get when I’d swoon and lurch, as though my mind weren’t stable, as though it never would be. That feeling when Amillara would intoxicate my veins, and I could feel her running through my flesh… I could hear a strange sound. I felt my throat and lungs and stomach lurch lightly - Oh. I was laughing. I could see it. She was going to say my name again. No! She could have been calling for help. Or summoning something much worse to kill me. I rushed her, but I didn’t have my knife. Where? Where the hell was it? There wasn’t time. I couldn’t turn around. Would it be wrong to use the tools of a demon against a demon? Was I the demon? What a jest! I opened my mouth and pressed my teeth to her throat as I came upon her. Her?

     Anything was possible here, so long as the word existed. That’s what I remember. My fangs engulfed her throat as I clamped down. She writhed beneath me. Oh, the blade was in my pocket. As she jerked and squirmed, I felt water trickle down my cheeks. It must have been raining. I chuckled again, but only a little, as I pushed the blade through her chest. It was a little alarming. The creature stopped moving after that blade pierced its heart. Heart?

     They rushed me violently, violently scratching at my arms and screeching in my ears. They were so loud! Winged demons with lances… Demons with weapons! They pulled me backward as that light that always comes flooded around me. Then, everything went dark…

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     "Your name, if I'm not mistaken, is Lucrys. I think, you might want to open your eyes." You wake up with crimson tides rushing around you. What is this place? You don't know it. You've never been here. Not in the memories you can pull, at least. A nauseating aroma, rank and riddled with the remorse of rotting flesh and writhing carcasses assails your nostrils. You look off into the black. It goes on forever in every direction. The only horizon against the forever that looms before you is the liquid-scarlet stick about your feet. You swoon, and fall. Or do you? You can't remember standing back upright. You notice it suddenly. Something snapping painfully in your head, your mind flaming at the realization that something else is here with you. You're not alone. There are two children, perhaps related, holding hands in the sea. A man and a woman lay dead around you, as well. Unrelated to the children for sure. That man. Where... Where was he? You'd seen him before. Surely, you had. Somewhere... The water! The scarlet petals swirling about you are flowing from them. From those corpses. "Your name," voices echo around you. The girl walks up to you slowly, smiling at first. The two of you were alone now. Her smile fades. "Is Lucrys," she continues. She walks closer, touching your arm tenderly. Her blood-soaked hand is gentle, the skin smooth. But there's something writhing beneath that skin. As if she had some bug inside of her. "I'm sorry," she says. “I don't believe you wanted any of this." An ax collides with her skull, her bone splitting. Shards fly about, along with chunks of skin. You see a boy with black hair and silver eyes repeatedly thrashing the metal hunk into her cranium. He looks at you solemnly. "There," he says, a slow smile spreading into a massive, childish grin on his twisted, now-bloodied face. "Dad's dead. All the bugs are gone.” He dances away humming and laughing. Giddy, the way a child should be. The hand of the girl grabs your leg. You look upon it, then to the slender bugs crawling out of her head. Agaur pool around her as she cries and hides what's left of her face. "Lucrys," she asks. Her grip tightens. "I think you might not have wanted to open your eyes."

     She came to you quickly. That fucking girl you couldn't get away from you. It couldn't be her! Not here. No. She couldn't be anywhere. Or, maybe you traveled here to finally find her. She was beautiful, the way she was any other day. Her crow-feather hair was long and straight, like it was reaching to stay on the earth that she could ascend from at any moment. She was frail and thin, starved, reflecting the way your arms looked when you'd often bite them. She wore a dress today. It was rare for her to don a dress, even when her ghost came. But it greatly complimented her keen, refined features. She stepped toward you, walking on rose petals beneath her feet, rather than sinking in the red toxin the way you did. She danced and spun, but she came upon you no slower. She smiled and she waved and she bowed sweetly. Her scent overcame you, taking away the disgust of the stained lake you stood in, bringing an all-too familiar and luscious scent you missed. The scent you longed for and named Amillara. She placed a hand on your shoulder with no forceful, violent actions, but with pulling, entrancing tugs that led you to dance a few steps with her. And she crooned and giggled, practically sang her soft and coaxing tune you yearned to hear. "Lucrys!"

     Her nails dug into my shoulder blades. I could feel her beneath my skin. Her fingers wrapping around my bones as I lurched further, farther into her arms from the feeling. She was so gentle. She smiled to me and licked my neck. "Open your eyes, my dear." I could feel her tug, my shoulder blades jolting farther from one another. My body would burst, each half splitting away to leave me dead. My bones splintered and cracked, the sound echoing through my ears. I could feel some gaping hole begin to open, going through the entirety of my chest. It burned, worse than any small cut I could have felt. She was tearing me apart. I could feel it in my head, that rending, gaping hollow that always wanted to consume me. I could feel Amillara's soft lips on my neck, her hands now sliding down my shoulders. "I haven't forgotten your name, Lucrys. I believe you might want to open your eyes."

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     They brought him into the room in his tattered garb, mud streaking across the floor as he shuffled with the guards. They gripped him tightly, but walked at a steady pace, allowing him to move with them easily, despite his shackles. They stopped before the throne, bowing to the young king and holding Lucrys in place.

     His eyes darted about the throne room and he breathed anxiously, his fingers twitching as he tried to keep from clicking his nails. He spotted a vaguely familiar man far to his right staring at him.

     The man’s lips curled into a faint, malicious smile. His white teeth gleamed. His brown hair fell limp upon his right side, reaching down to his waste. The left was dyed a fierce scarlet and pulled atop his head, reaching even with his right shoulder. Lucrys didn’t note much of him, save a silver and cyan earring on his left ear as he turned to survey the men around him. He whispered something, but Lucrys couldn’t hear it. Everything was quiet, and it made him feel a sense of calm. He faced the king, but found himself looking beyond him, to at a large, stained window.

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     Skaarin watched intently as they carried him in. The new prisoner was frail. No doubt he’d have to watch over him. Amusingly, the man didn’t bow. But it wasn’t out of disrespect. He didn’t even look like he knew he should bow. A smile crept over Skaarin’s face. He looked dramatically to the people about him. “No,” he whispered. “No one’s going to help him? Very well,” he mused. He strode to the man, his hands moving as a symphony played in his head. “And what do they call you?” he sang to himself.

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     The man clasped his hands to Lucrys’ shoulders gently, slowly forcing him to his knees. “You need to bow,” he crooned into his ear. He followed Lucrys’ gaze to the stained glass. “A heart-wrenching shame, isn’t it? The color and design is lovely, but you can’t see anything beyond it. I wonder what’s out there just as much as you do. A pity like rain,” he said, rubbing Lucrys’ shoulders. “It just suffocates us to know we’ll never see what’s on the other side.”

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     “Skaarin,” the king barked. “That’s not entirely necessary, is it?” A few servants came to mop the mud from the floor. “That’s not entirely necessary at the moment, either,” the king said, waving them off with his hand. “You know, Skaarin, he may look tired, but your touch may be unnerving him. He’s a murderer. If he snaps, you may be his next victim.” Latrus studied the prisoner before resting his head in his palm and daydreaming. After long moments of silence, he sighed. “What was the point in a trial,” he asked. “He’s guilty and quite loose. Fuck, the poor soul doesn’t even know what’s going on. Throw him in the dungeon. Skaarin, you’ll watch over him. As a psychiatrist, you should help his mind mend, and as one of my closest advisors, you should learn why he did what he did. Tell me whenever you know.” King Latrus studied Lucrys once more and frowned. “Though, I doubt you’ll learn much of him soon,” he groaned.

     Skaarin bowed. “Then I’ll be off. To our chambers, friend,” he crowed. Skaarin grinned, pulling a key from his sleeve. Humming, he pushed it into Lucrys’ shackles and removed them, tossing them far to the side. “Let’s get to know each other,” he sang. “I’m sure we’ll make damn good friends. I can see a smile in those distant orbs.” When Lucrys didn’t reply, he frowned. “Well you’re no fun, are you? No, matter,” he sighed, “I’m sure your teeth will chatter soon enough.” The man led the obedient Lucrys from the room, snapping each time Lucrys took a step. He led him farther away from the boy king; and farther away from the stained glass portrait of a calm, lone woman being eaten by men.