Rated: M

Writing done by KristinGyaru.

I can see you there, snaking through the trees. I can hear you now, whistling between the reeds. If I cannot see you, I cannot be hurt? Is that how this game is played? The darkness is closing in on me, ensnaring me between it's branches. What is this pain? This torment? This throbbing ache between my muscles? Who is the one who knocks, the one person who will capture me and take me whole, because I know my life is short now.

The clock hits again and as I sit here, I am decidedly alert, the fire is blazing. I cannot seem to fathom where you have gone. Your portrait, it stands still above the mantle, withstanding the test of time. Though I seem to wither away without you, my dear Eleanor. You seem to be well, my dear.

My body arches up as I hear the noise again. The midnight crescent within the dark sky is the only thing illuminating me now, and I do not know whether to laugh or to cry. My mind is an amalgamation of varying emotions, different ways I should feel. My body is growing numb, now, Eleanor. Is it you who is doing this? Are you the calling card, the Joker, the Ace? Or are you a tarot, a symbolic cup, or the merciful death? I cannot fathom it, Eleanor, there's a snake outside my window. But is it a snake? Alas I cannot say for all I have seen are the eyes.

My heart is hurting, I cannot feel my fingers. It is getting cool, the fire is doing nothing. My grip tightens around the arms of my chair, I see you Eleanor, watching over me.

Am I losing myself? Or regaining focus? Is this death or rebirth? I can hear the same vague noise again, Eleanor, it's calling to me. Oh, who is that, at this ungodly hour? Could it be a neighbour, a scared hitchiker? Or a lady of the night, Eleanor? Someone to taunt me, to take away the ache between my loins since you have been gone? 

The noise has stopped, and the room is growing cold. It is a dismal night, Eleanor, and I wish you were here. Though it is silent, I can see it. Now it is close. It is towards me in the house, I still do not know, Eleanor. What is it? Surely you must know! Surely!

I can feel it's claws wrapping around my throat and I am still cold. My body is numb and though I struggle, I cannot.

Why can't I move, Eleanor? Why are you moving? How is it that I am bleeding so furiously from my neck yet I am not dying? How are the veins all severed yet my heart still beating?

Am I alive?

No, it is something more. Eleanor, I do wish you'd tell me.

Eleanor, what is wrong?

Why is this so nonchalant? Eleanor! Oh, but, wait, I have a single word for this. It is the phrase I coined myself.

I am not dead. I am merely... dismal.