(Warning:
And sometimes you are all silent. Nothing but you, the gentle crunch of snow under your feet in fields of white. In these moments you feel as if you are the only three that exist in the entire world. Such a weight belies the importance of this moment despite the quiet and seeming mundanity of it.
After all…
This is the moment you became a person again.
Thirty years ago, cataclysm had reshaped the world in strange and seemingly impossible ways. Cutting swaths into mountains and people and memory. Whole populations died and then they walked. Fearsome things of instinct and untold rage that wreaked further bloodshed upon the living who would join them after. The world had forgotten how to die.
And then one by one, the dead woke up from whatever terrible nightmare had driven them to frenzy. Is it mercy or further terror to return to oneself, unwhole and feared and loathed? The taste of blood still acrid in their mouths and forever staining their hands. The world is still wrong.
You are one of the dead. Picked up from snowy wastes by your kin to find your way in this broken world. But you are together.
