Clinging to life, my knuckles turning white as I grip the railing, I glance down at the smoking abyss below. What darkness there! I hear panicked shouts, but the words have lost all meaning to me, just a dull, droning din.
I’ve heard tales of the abyss staring back at you. I can’t speak to that. I can say, though, I feel something here more than a hollow, than an absence. As I dangle above this hell, there’s a presence, a mind, almost, but whether it is my own reflection or some embodied darkness, its eyes are not on me.
Tale Told 