I’ve heard that when you’ve lost everything, you finally see who you really are. If that’s true, then I’m not sure I like the thing at the core of myself.
It scares me.
I’ve lost my wife. She’s not dead, but she might as well be—locked in a coma that she’ll never be free from. My daughter is gone too—taken from me before I even had the chance to hold her.
They told me she’s dead, but I’m not so sure anymore.
I’ve started seeing things, dark creatures, I feel their taint in the air and the way they make the world feel off . . . wrong. Everyone says it’s all in my mind, that it’s just grief. They say I’m overwhelmed by the sorrow and the loss and that someday it’ll all be better again.
Maybe they’re right, or maybe I’m just losing my mind. These things I’m seeing can’t be real; monsters aren’t supposed to exist.
But if they do, then they have my little girl.
If there’s even a chance that my daughter is still alive, then I need to find her. No matter what anyone says. No matter what it takes.
No matter what kind of man it turns me into.
