(Check the description)

“Be the first knife to pass through my chest”, the words burned your tongue, but you didn't get a chance to say them to...

“Just let it go.”

...to Tartaglia, it seems.

But you never really needed him, never really waited for anything from him... Just boredom swam you two together.

As you lay in bed, the past weeks seemed like a blurry mess, taking your thoughts to a dead end. Do you really need to care about what happened when all the world became so... empty after the drugs?