In what manner do you find yourself?

Slipping?

Spinning?

Do you melt like the tides, or titter like the wind in the branches of a calm and stoic oak? Are you aware?

I find myself on a black hill of bodies. I am in a field of shadows, bathed in the light of a full red moon. There is mist, and the stench of death is pervading and overpowering. I see clusters of swords and spears, thrust into the flesh of the hill. It is a memorial to those who wielded them, willing them to sing with the dreary work for which they were forged.

Blood is slick here, and it is everywhere. It appears that this is a fresh hill of war, where lives were stoppered.

I hear a sound.

The drone of insects. Horseflies have been summoned to their grim duty, and I see the countless writhing forms of them in the dark patches and pools of blood. The hill is alive with their like, and their spawn. Maggots. They swell in every corner, and their sight sickens me. The stench of death is no longer bearable and I shield myself from its assault, cupping my soiled hands over my nostrils and mouth.

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The chittering hymn of the flies grows louder, and I begin to worry. Their song rising to an impossibly loud clamour. I take a step back and behold.

A twisting shape emerges from the side of the hill opposite me, and I close my eyes tight in horror. I cannot bear to view this beast, yet even with my eyes closed, I can still see it clearly. It is dread incarnate. My eyes cannot escape, and I know that its form infects my mind as well.

Curse Walker.

How can I name this terror? I have never seen its like, yet I know it's natural order.

It is a wildly careening shape, with the silhouette of a man, but with volatile, quivering flesh made of horseflies. Its mouth hangs openly unhinged, and more insects escape from within its throat. It moves closer to me, vibrating limbs stretching. Reaching. The sockets in its shapeless face are glittering locusts, and their wings beat quickly, humming along with the chorus of the other bugs and larvae. Without true eyes, I know it cannot possibly see me. Yet, it does. The creatures tongue is an asp that slithers inside its jaw, hissing. It lumbers closer.

I do not move. This creature’s gaze holds me in place. It stops in front of me, inches away. My eyes are frozen to the asp inside the man’s mouth, and it coils dangerously. I cannot move. I cannot scream.

The stench of the thing is tremendous, and I wretch as it moves in, wrapping its buzzing arms around my shoulders. The serpent strikes out, piercing the flesh of my collar. The pain is a fire, and it is agony. The asp coils once more, this time around my neck, and squeezes tight, choking me.

The monstrous horror leans forward, and the dirge susurrus of its flesh is so loud now that my head feels as though it might burst. Then it stops, and the disjointed mouth shudders upward into a cruel grin.

I am suddenly consumed by the insects. The sound of buzzing is all I can hear, and their legs and wings cover my skin. It causes my senses to crawl. Their wet, bloody slickness presses against me and it itches. That feeling is a torture, and it intensified, becoming an angry burn. I am being devoured by them, and I know I cannot escape.

Then, they melt away, and so, I feel, do I.

I lay in darkness, no longer the meal of the swarm. My mind feels as though it boils inside the mantle of my skull, and I realize now that my eyes are tightly closed. I open them, and candlelight meets me once again. The chamber. The Sanctum.

So, says the face, you have awakened.