I passed through the threshold. Not all of me, only the part the Underworld desired: my body and my flesh. Sucking life from it, leaving an inanimate husk behind as testament to what was once alive. The rest of me, my spirit, remained with the living. Some call me a ghost.
Let’s back up. The Underworld is Its own intelligent entity, born from discarded hopes and deep seeded regret. It is despair made manifest — and It’s hungry. Perpetually hungry. Never sated.
Its meal? The vitality within human flesh, damned or saved, (the Underworld makes no distinction). Dead bodies, corpses, cadavers are the bones It leaves after consuming Its meal.
When you feel my icy hand on your shoulder or my presence breezing by your curtains, remember that I am both living and dead. and that I have no control over myself or what I am doing. I’m a victim of Death, as you will someday be.
Originally published on Patreon.