A boy sits in a bedroom and stares at a book, wiping away a glistening tear.

"He would," he whispers, equal parts wistful and bitter. His eyes are still dark and wet. His face, though, looks paler than it ever has. "He always had to be the fucking martyr. He knew that whenever he pulled shit like that, it made me want to…"

He sighs and puts down the book. He starts to cry again.

Right now, he's not in a hurry to read any words or see anyone or do anything at all.

In fact, nothing seems like it will ever be urgent again, now that he has all the time in the world and no one to spend it with.

A girl sits in a basement and stares at her hands, wiping away a smile.

She's finally done it.

She always swore she would, but somehow, it had always seemed just too good to be true.

Yet now that the climax is over, now that the mess of consequences for her actions is starting to fall into place… she's not sure how she feels.

She wants to keep smiling, of course. She wants to be glorious and proud. She wants to dance and sing.

But that will hardly do for the morbid little photo albums.

She'll put on a brave face—that is to say, a teary one.

Even though her arrogance outweighs her experience by far, she does know a few things about people, and one of the most important of those things is that people will fall for anything as long as it's sappy.

People are suckers, and it's why she stopped considering herself human a long time ago.

A woman sits on a kitchen floors and stares at the water that she has left running. The dishes are still dirty, piling up now, and the sink is about to overflow.

She could care less.

In fact, flooding the house might just be worth it.

Wouldn't it hurt less to drown in untainted water than in her own tears?

Of course, maybe that's a moot point when everything already hurts so much.

She can feel her bones creaking and it's sick, how her pain is so… rhythmic. For a brief moment, she wonders if this could be his work. Maybe he's trying to communicate with her?

No. She bites her lip. That could never be. The notion is just ridiculous.

She knows perfectly well that the him she used to know will never speak to her again.

A man lies inside a tomb in a quaint little graveyard. His lidded eyes face the top of the coffin. Even if it weren't so deadly dark in his morbid little sanctuary, he wouldn't be able to see anyway.

The man is cold and alone.

He will be cold forever, but soon, he will not be so alone.