With bloody, dripping claws it beckons to me. The chilled, warm fluid sticks to my feet and converges with the shadow, as if the entire void were made entirely from it and nothing else.
Laughter fills my ears, and I begin to giggle myself while I grip this bloody knife in hand. My knees are bent brokenly, but the pain isn't there. Deep gashes on my legs, my arms... I laugh while my shadow pulls me farther into the insanity.
It grows and grows with every droplet of blood that is shed from my crippled body, and it is stronger than I am. It's only a matter of waiting for the moment it pulls me under completely, having fed off of me long enough to move on to its next victim.
How long do I have to keep trying, until you are satisfied? How much blood must I drain from myself in order to quench your endless thirst? When will you be happy, darkness?
The darkness is smiling at me, and I can hear its silent words:
"The blood in your veins is not what fuels me, but the thoughts in your head that never fail to stray to the dark side of your heart's desires. You empty yourself because you are happier that way, and I only feed off of your discarded life... I will be satisfied when you are, child."
And then I drop to the floor. Blackness.