Dark figures dance across dank doorways, sporadically morphing. A solid, humid mist encompasses the ruins. It forces the victims down, restrains them with a bleak, airy grip. Writhing heavily at first, the victim screams. But the mist intoxicates and consumes, only to bring emptiness to its prey, for the mist has sucked all the life out of it’s catch. And now this prey is numb and dead, yet still alive. It is mechanical and withdrawn, out of touch, neither happy nor sad nor in between. It is neither sane nor insane.
It is simply empty.
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