Imagine cold hands resting against your throat, so close to squeezing down to cut off your air, sharp talon tipped fingers just this side of breaking skin. Imagine that these hands are part of a tattoo you don't remember getting. A black ink demon spawning from navel, wrapping across the span of the abdomen, and snaking up your spine to rest its head on your shoulder as it gently takes hold of your neck.
Now listen. Do you hear the breathing? The whispering and laughing? You can pick out one sentence, "fifteen days, five hours, thirty minutes, ten seconds."copyright protection264ＰＥＮＡＮＡjXZZ96Hh4pns188.8.131.52da2