In a sleepless night, a boy around the age of twelve, holding the pen as it weaved along with the sheet of paper in irregular behavior. The tension of which the boy held the pen and stare at the paper seems to be out of ordinary, it felt like a dark eerie premonition.

Where everything the boy stood, turned into a menacing wave as if life seems to be pulsating in every corner of the room, the window beside the boy, had given the air into twisting vines of shadow around the silhouette of the boy.

The tales of the past comes into the boy's eyes, tears pouring like rain, blemishing the sheet as if the burden made it alive. Each stroke tells a story, a story of which the world fall into the madness of a certain man seeking for an answer. The world which took away his purpose, his life. He disgusts it with every fiber of his bones.

In his despair, a mangled voice came out: If my love is not enough, then would be the retribution of the people I slaughter is enough.

Within his sorrow, a blurry image of a girl emerge. The man tried to reach out his hand, trying to grasp something, as if he desperately trying to hold onto her hand. From that last moment, the man lost his strength, giving up his body, and slowly closed his eyes with his smile hanging with his face.

In his last thoughts.

Even in death, not only you uphold your bargain, but you also took away my life for a life. Then it shall be, if this price is to attain my wish, then this death, I have no recourse.

Then along with it, a marble-like a semblance manifested above the man paper. As if the blood and tears were soaked with it, also with the man selfish last wish.