(Gabriel)

It was a pale luminescence that came through the cracks of the door, diminished by distance and obstacles. Still, it caught and illuminated the walls of the small cell.

Walls, which were covered with writing. Here and there, but mostly everywhere, writings of runes and symbols and vague pictures which were not even close to a complete scene, and always were drawn in the most crude manner. The words and images were flaking, but only because the blood was drying.

Scrawled in painstaking, block-like letters on one section were the words;
'The shade has torn his heart
Everything and nothing is the part
Will the Father return to my halls?
Where is the passion?
It's on these prison walls.'

A little apart from that were the words...
'Catfish
or was it mutton? Fie
Why can't I remember?
Lenore, or Emilia or or'

The symbols drawn were convoluted. Something vaguely similar to a snake, or perhaps an eight on its side. A triangle, a circle. Then, numbers. Eight, nine, ten, eleven.

'Spirits, spirits, in my head
When will I be free and dead?'

The light shimmered in the room as outside a man passes by the torch. A chuckle touches the walls, echoes, and disperses into silence, but this chuckle has initiated a response, a response from something laying on the floor. A pile of ragged clothes, dirty, knotted hair, and pale skin.

'What do I love?
Love? Love? I love blood.'

A groan, and the head raises, while eyes look to the door - though it's a wonder just how much they actually are seeing. So glazed over are those eyes, as if all the cerebral thought of Melchior Himself were encased in such a mortal, youthful form. The head falls to the ground, and the body twitches.

'From the east when the light is past the west
What was, I forgot all the rest
Emilia
Sarahmil
What was it'

'They give me just enough of it to write
But not enough to live, love, or fight.'

A dissonant melody bounces on the walls of the cell. Cracked. There is no beat to it, no tempo, no rhythm. It is not a song, but the lament to the death of one's mind.

'Where it is
It's blood's job to find'