You take up your sickle and run into the mist. You scream and yell and slash but mist has to week spot, no skin to split, no bones to break, no blood to spill. Only when you are too tired to swing your sickle do they come for you. Black shapes, all too solid. It is a testament to your determination that you land more than a couple of blows. The last thing you hear is laughter and the crashing of the waves.
You visit your village again from time to time. Those who knew you sometimes claim they heard you or glimpsed your face in the mist. Some even come to dance with you. You are not lonely. Soon your entire village will join you…
Your journey has ended, please enter the code - QT-008
You visit your village again from time to time. Those who knew you sometimes claim they heard you or glimpsed your face in the mist. Some even come to dance with you. You are not lonely. Soon your entire village will join you…
Your journey has ended, please enter the code - QT-008