Prologue
The shadows listen to the most desperate, to those who have suffered the most, not only because of the nature of their torment, but because of how long they have been forced to endure it. They listen to those who feel abandoned by God, stripped of divine grace, to those who have pleaded for so long that hope itself has become a mockery.
Then they answer.
They do not always possess a face, and rarely do they speak a name. Sometimes they are nothing more than an idea born where only despair once existed; other times, a whisper mistaken for the wind, a presence in a place where no one should be, or an answer that arrives too late to be distinguished from madness. Their echoes may shatter the sanity of those who hear them, but the shadows will have their vengeance, whether in this life or the next.
Amen.
Ill-fated cries of the afflicted,dreadful losses that bring sorrow,the dead who cannot act,mad cries echoing for vengeance,the living who refuse to act,traumas embedded in the darkest depths of the soul.
The shadows listen to those who long to be heard,demons whisper the traumatic truth,ghosts gaze upon the forbidden,death bears witness to their fears,he feels your darkest frustration,a pact is conceived in the deepest despair.
Plead for your dreadful desires and they shall reach their destination,cry out your impure punishments with resentment,speak your name and you shall be forgotten,and at last your soul shall be free, pure and black,fading into oblivion, without hatred,for the love of those who never deserved the punishment.
