Scourge to the skin rips from the body and lays it bare. A surface coheres - the murky reflection of an alien stare. Trembling with sickness - a heaving mass under absent weight. Your withering form does not have the stomach to hate how I hate. No fragile posture to save you now. Echoing, your cries ring out. Your fear reflects off of everything. An empty whimper spills from your mouth. Nothing left to see - no new tale to tell - With each layer of silence it constructs your hell.