Humanities weakness.
You never wake up.
But it wasn’t the illness that took you.
Somewhere in the darkness of your fevered sleep, you feel something—a presence. A slow, deliberate creak of your bedroom door. Heavy, unsteady footsteps moving closer. A whisper of breath near your ear.
And then—nothing.
By the time morning arrives, your body lies cold and motionless. The sickness may have weakened you, but it wasn’t what ended you.
It was your friend.
But why?
You’ll never know.
But it wasn’t the illness that took you.
Somewhere in the darkness of your fevered sleep, you feel something—a presence. A slow, deliberate creak of your bedroom door. Heavy, unsteady footsteps moving closer. A whisper of breath near your ear.
And then—nothing.
By the time morning arrives, your body lies cold and motionless. The sickness may have weakened you, but it wasn’t what ended you.
It was your friend.
But why?
You’ll never know.
