The Darkness slides through the passageways; it always knows where to find me. It comes to tell me what it desires of me—never something pleasant. For me the requests no longer bother me, I am used to its requests. It had been so for centuries, but it had not always been so. Before the plague took my family, I would have been revolted by the demands of hunger the Darkness put in me. Then it came to comfort me and give me new meaning—I go where it leads me and I feed. I do not know what the Darkness made of me; I only know the hunger that burns in the pit of my stomach. It always promises with whispers in my head, “this will be the last time,” and each time I know it is a lie. It has not called on me since I’ve been locked down here, now it demands my obedience; it has new flesh for me to feed on, to extinguish the fire in my stomach. The darkness leads me down passages, I’ve traveled several times, to the exit. Light emits down on me from the hole in the floor. The pipes, that I had punctured to drink the blood that flowed in them, partially removed for repair. I climb into a large cold room—halved bodies hang from butchers hooks suspended in the ceiling. I am free.

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