“What have you got for me, dead thing?” I asked. It’s a game. I will play my pieces. I felt him cold inside me. I saw his death. I saw his despair. And his hunger. And I gave it back. I’d expected more, but he was only dead. I showed him the empty time where my memory won’t go. I let him look there. He ran from me then. He ran, and I chased him. But only to the edge of the marsh. Because it’s a game. And I’m going to win.
