My journey, my ghost, my unheard scream,

I write this on a piece of skin with a charred stub of bone. I am sitting beside the Gates of Hell. The gargoyles pinch and taunt, distracting me. Distant shrieks evoke spiders, alleys, approaching footsteps.

I was not afraid to come for you. Until now.

Soon I will tighten the laces of my boots and swallow the last of my water. Soon I will stand beneath the misshapen Gates of Hell and brace my soul against its own fear. Am I your seraph, your scar, your daemon lover? Soon I will set forth across the raw landscape that separates us, hoping a chasm will swallow me and spare me this passage. Are you my apple, my trespass, my true salvation?

A leering demon has offered to carry this letter to you, but I declined. No more emissaries. I will bring these words to you myself, and you will answer me.

Are you ready for me to come to you?
Are you ready for me?
Are you ready?
Are you?

The Sixth Letter ยป