In a lonesome palace, he lives alone.
He barely eats. When does, it was not really out of his deliberate decision. He hungers, and could not stop that hunger. His body moves on its own and seeks blood.
The monster inside him was too strong, and he could not fight it.
It had rained that night, endless rain. Feeling of endlessness. Feeling of stagnation, of the slow slumber of self nad individualism into just existence.
"I am dead." He told himself.
He died, and there is nothing else. He only exists now.
And it was very painful to continue existing when he doesn't want to anymore. To keep existing as this monster who only brings pain to others.
That dark cloud that nobody wanted. That cloud sprinkle its tears to him, and he reached out to the balcony, feeling it with his cold skin. If humans were made from ashes and mud, may that rain dissolve him. May he be doused like a flame.
"Why didn't he kill me? Does it mean that he..."
