We Live in Death. We don’t exist and so, we are cursed to be Faceless.
As Faceless as the many-faced God itself.
There’s freedom despite the agony we have found. In not being acknowledged or beloved, we have become no one.
I am No One.
An assassin you cannot see or hear lurking in your shadows or habitat.
By the time you feel us, the seventh face, which is death, is all you’ll see.
Time brings us all to the same place. You can’t shut your ears or close your eyes to it. Its cold embrace will consume you into its abyss. To never be seen or heard from again.
It’s red blade will ensure your destined death lest you choose to be like some of us.
Living In Death. Never existing. Faceless.
No one will mourn you. No one will remember you.
Even if you survive, who will call you? Who will seek you out? Who will love you? Who would dare miss you?
No one. Accursed and Tarnished, sentenced to Live in Death.
To be seen but not acknowledged, heard but not listened to — that is what it means. To work without reward, to link fires but trapped in cold and shadow.
That is truly what it means to Live in Death.
