<blockquote><div><cite>Dream Evil wrote:</cite>The night air did chill him to the bone.  He shivered and clutched at his arms, but he didn't care.  The cold would purify his mind and release those horrible images...or so he thought.  They stuck to his mind like a plague.  The pestilence inside his head was going to drive him insane.<br/>He lashed out, kicking at a brick wall, knowing it would do nothing.<br/>"What the fuck am I living for?  A creed?  A fable?"  <br/>Terrence questioned to the wind, though it would reveal no answers.  He already knew the answer.  He was in fact, quite dead.  He still existed in this plane of existence and he was still alive.  But only alive in the sense that his black heart still beat and his brain still ticked.  But without a real purpose in life or a reason for living, he declared himself dead.<br/>With one final after-thought, he spat into the wind and uttered a silent curse to the skies before he returned.<br/><br/>He looked at Sara, but said nothing.  He went across the room and picked up his jacket, and returned to the fire.  Once there he resumed his prior seating, with his jacket draped around his shoulders and his legs loosely crossed in front of him.  He picked up his plate and slowly ate the meat, he didn't particularly feel like eating, but he didn't want to drift off again.</div></blockquote>