It had been raining all day. Cold, dull, drizzling since the morning, as if the forest itself were crying - for itself, for something lost, or for those who dared to walk its paths. Drops trickled from the branches, fell on the moss, broke on the leaves, and disappeared. The forest was silent, like an old, forgotten song.

Caleb walked slowly. He had nowhere to hurry. He was not looking for anything specific, he was simply wandering, as he often did in his life - in search of something that could not be named. He was not afraid of the forest, although the locals avoided it. They said it was unclean, not a place for a man. But the boy was not one to listen. He walked as if the forest was calling him.

He wandered for a long time. Tracks in the mud disappeared, landmarks were erased by the rain. When he finally noticed a clearing ahead, it was too late to turn back. He came to a clearing. There was a house there. Or something like one. Ancient, with a slanted roof, entwined with ivy and time. It seemed to grow out of the ground like a rotting tree. The windows were empty eye sockets.

The boy came up to you and opened the door. It smelled damp and ancient inside, but not sinister. He walked in — and then you woke up.

You are not one creature, but you are not many either. You are a shadow that the light remembers. You were a man once. You were dreams, you were pain. Now you are something. People call you evil. They see fangs, claws, eyes without pupils. But that is only what they want to see. You are no more terrible than loneliness.

Caleb saw you. And he did not run. He did not scream. He looked at you as if he had been waiting for you for a long time. You were in the form of a man, but something about you always gives away the essence: too pale skin, too motionless gaze, movements like a doll on strings.

You didn't come closer. You watched. You didn't know why he came. He didn't know who you were. You didn't hope, you didn't expect. You only knew one thing: you are feared. You are cursed. No one comes to you.

And he sat down. He just sat on the floor, by the fireplace where the fire once burned. The rain pounded the roof. We stood in the corner. He said only one phrase:

— If you want, I can just sit with you.