Dripping red strings, overwhelming color in a shallow sea of dark water. Beauty. Anxiety. A desire to be consumed by beauty. A desire to be a beautiful mark, a kill hung up on a wall, made pretty for its exhibition. No other fate would do.

Occasionally, these lights disappear. Whispers and rumors abound across the purgatory. A beautiful usurper, a strange shapeshifter, descends upon the lights, akin to beacons for the harvest. Visions invade my mind, the shapeshifter consumes them, beings pulled apart into bloody carrion.

comrade, the world revolution demands your service