Demons stalk across the trembling line between fantasy and reality: pounding on the fuzzy borders of my skull. The cool mist rises off the frigid swamp, as I wade through water thirteen below, a hundred needles of icy cold wracking every nerve.
As I walk, the pale corpses shift and roll in their sleep: bloated bodies hanging just beneath the mirror sheen surface.
In the distance I see it, the old decaying Castle peering over the swamp. I am not strong Siegfried today, my whole body tattered and ragged, I’m more afraid and fragile than ever.
But I am alive and I must try.