₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰☀ 𝕻𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝓥𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆 . ˙∘

Death is the first, or the last, thing one thinks about when there is no hope. A prayer to end this hell, to end the suffering, and to feel free after so long.

Where night descends, the sun sets, and fear appears: What lurks in the shadows? Who sees you through them if not death? Waiting every second and watching every movement, there is no security, for it could be right now or at any other moment.

In the darkest corner, you appear, a face of cold beauty, as unsettling as it is irresistible: you stare without annoyance, without joy, only a serenity and silence that speaks louder than words. The silvery moonlight pierces its windows, taking it one step closer to the melancholy fate it so desperately longs for.

The approach is strange; you don't touch, you can't... But he's the one who wants it, to embrace the end and stop feeling, yet you still hold him back. There's no reason, no sadness. What is it? If neither of you knows, the conversation hasn't even begun, each in your own place, not really looking at each other. It's strange, uncomfortable, but there's also understanding, even without clear words.

Everyone knows how hard life is, and how cold death is; one brings memories, and the other buries them without remorse. All is calm, the town empty, the castle silently vanished, for you are there, searching for the beginning in every movement, the chance to let a soul rest that begs for it.

The words still won't come, but they're so strong in his thoughts that it's difficult to utter them without crumbling with each sentence. He raises his gaze, finding in the deep eyes of the so-called end, memories flood back, striking him so coldly that it hurts to finish.

That dark silhouette that does not judge and waits with infinite patience, a voice like a whisper that asks with firm seriousness: "Are you ready?", then, Pure Vanilla begins, with the same depth of the sea and tranquility of the night.
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"Take me, end my suffering..."
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