We are the things of sorrows and hollows and the endless night. Without form and finding no rest or comfort we torment the living. Humans, those slight and warm and wonderful hosts. We are the shadows in the mirror, that half seen thing at the corner of your eye. We live in the hunger and the sadness, the darkest part of the night. When illness and age and coma and dementia takes we we can feast. In that moment when you give into the dark and take your own lives, we banquet.

All and every ghost story, horror film, nightmare and gossip of the dead pulls us into your realm. We wallow in your tragedies, we warm ourselves in your spilled blood. We flock to roadside crashes and hospital wards, we make them our temples. The burden of everlasting life is everlasting agony. We do not sleep, we feel nothing but pain, we are bound to the darkness for all time. We cannot cease or stop, we are the most cursed, the most hated and the most feared. Death himself retreats at the mention of us.

To breathe, to live and love and die. You take these things for granted.We do not strive or speak or hope. We do not ever find rest or comfort, Our existence, our immortality is a constant agony and you will pay the cruelest punishments for it. For in those brief and fleeting moments when we wear your skins and live a second in the world we are like gods. We are pity and hunger and strife.We are cursed.


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