The Face of Madness He is coming for me. I can feel his presence, always close, lurking in the shadows. Sometimes I see him. A fleeting glimpse from the corner of my eyes, gone when I turn. Never more than his bony fingers, his bloodstained claws, reaching yet never touching. Why is he waiting? Watching me, judging me. What does he want? I fear the day when he'll finally make his move. At his slightest touch I will lose my mind. I fear the night and tremble in the dark. I lie awake with my eyes open. He's even more real in my dreams than he is in my thoughts. I dare not go to sleep. I am running, trying to hide. But he's so close behind me. And every time he finds me I wake up screaming. How long can I go on living in fear? It is draining me of my sanity. I see his hand again reaching out to me. Slowly I turn, longing for his touch. He nods his head in greeting, and silently beckons me on. There is no return, from the paths he shows me. He holds out his hand, and now I must decide. Eagerly I take it and smile at the face of Madness.