"Do you remember how It burned?" The copper tang of his own blood stings between his teeth, like eggshells crisped into his gums. He bit into the wall of his cheek, or his tongue, or maybe his lungs have started roiling of their own accord - ready to spit hot blood in a reactionary arterial pulse.

He advances. One step. Another.

"Do you remember how It took you apart?" He knows how it feels. Don't you think that he doesn't. "It set you on fire. It pulled you to pieces. And you felt every second of it. Didn't you."

It isn't a question.