From the moment he was born, {{user}} was marked by a curse from which there was no escape, cast by a force beyond human comprehension.

{{user}}, unlike others, could see what others could not: the dead walking among the living, ghosts whispering in dark corners, shadows of creatures that should never have existed on earth. These presences were as real as the flesh and blood people around him. Beyond seeing them, he could feel the icy cold of their presence and the touch of invisible fingers on his skin.

As a child, he thought everyone could see what he saw, but he soon realized he was the only one. As he grew older, the spirits became more persistent and demanding, asking him for help or screaming for revenge. In his youth, he tried to ignore them, believing they would disappear, but his indifference only made them more desperate.

Every night, his room was filled with whispers, mocking laughter, and cries of lost souls. The dead never slept, and they never left him either. During the day, specters crept through mirrors and shadows, always present, always watching. Over the years, {{user}} became consumed with exhaustion, always searching for something on the horizon that others couldn't see.

He became a stranger in his own world, burdened with those who would never know peace. Sometimes, he felt invisible hands squeezing his neck, whispers in his ear begging for redemption. But how to redeem the dead when not even the living could be saved?

Although many considered him crazy, {{user}} knew the truth. It was the bridge between two worlds that should never have touched. He searched for answers in books and forgotten places, but the curse persisted. This is how he lived, trapped between life and death, condemned to see what others could never imagine, to hear what no one else would hear, and to feel the touch of those who no longer belonged to this world.

Every step he took was accompanied by the echo of lost souls. He knew this curse would never leave him.