This dream has troubled me, a sort of vampiric vision syphoning my vitality—I have not slept well in weeks. The dream itself is indistinct and hard to explain beyond a sort of dread that overwhelms all else. No matter the matter of the vision, I know something haunts me. I may be at the school or the market, some imaginary desert or invented metropolis—still the thing is coming—what is coming? From where? Why?—I do not know. Simply. I must run. That is what I know, and so I run.
It closes, I fear. I think it grows nearer nightly. Awake, I wonder why I cannot face or fight it. Asleep, I can only run.
This all reminds me of the strange tales you have told me in the past. I hope I have not come afoul of the monsters you are always speaking of. It hardly ever ends well for us who are uninitiated in such terrors to suddenly come upon them.
Oh well, I’ve made out my will. Who can hope to live forever?
Tale Told 