The bell rang. It did not ring for time. It rang for hunger.

Mara stood in the center of the hall. The floor was stone. It was cold. Her feet bled. She did not look down. She looked at the door. The door was black. It was heavy. It smelled of iron.

"Come in," said the Voice.

Mara walked in. She did not run. She never ran. Running was for children. Running was for the weak. She was strong. She was quiet. She was Mara.

The room was full of tables. Long tables. White cloth. The cloth was stained. The stains were brown. The stains were red. The stains were old.

Sitting at the table was Arthur.

Arthur was small. He was thin. He wore a white coat. The coat was clean. His face was pale. His eyes were dark. They were deep. They did not blink.

"Sit," Arthur said.

Mara sat. The chair was hard. It bit into her legs. She did not move. She did not shift. She sat still.

"You are late," Arthur said.

"I am early," Mara said.

Her voice was low. It was rough. It was like sand.

Arthur smiled. He did not move his mouth. The smile was in his eyes. It was cold. It was sharp.

"Look at the table," Arthur said.

Mara looked.

There was a bowl. The bowl was gold. It was bright. It was shining. It was beautiful.

Inside the bowl was meat. The meat was raw. It was red. It was wet. It smelled of salt. It smelled of earth. It smelled of life.

Mara’s stomach growled. It was a low sound. It was a deep sound. It was a sound of pain.

"You are hungry," Arthur said.

"Yes," Mara said.

"Always," Arthur said.

"Yes," Mara said.

"Who fed you last time?" Arthur asked.

"Sarah," Mara said.

Arthur nodded. He nodded slowly. He nodded once.

"Sarah is gone," Arthur said.

Mara’s hand tightened. Her fingers turned white. She did not speak. She did not move.

"Gone where?" she asked.

"Gone," Arthur said.

"Gone how?" she asked.

"Eaten," Arthur said.

The word hung in the air. It was heavy. It was thick. It was dark.

Mara looked at the meat. The meat moved. It twitched. It was alive.

"No," Mara said.

"Yes," Arthur said.

"You lie," Mara said.

"Do I?" Arthur asked.

"Sarah is my friend," Mara said.

"She is your food," Arthur said.

Mara stood up. The chair scraped against the stone. The sound was sharp. The sound was loud. The sound was a scream.

"Get out," Mara said.

"Sit down," Arthur said.

His voice was not loud. It was not angry. It was calm. It was like water. It was like ice.

Mara sat down. Her hands shook. Her breath was fast. Her heart was loud. It was beating in her ears. It was beating in her head.

"Who is next?" Mara asked.

Arthur looked at her. He looked at her for a long time. The room was silent. The air was still. The gold bowl glowed.

"You," Arthur said.

Mara laughed. It was a dry sound. It was a broken sound. It was a sound of wind in dead trees.

"I?" she said.

"You," Arthur said.

"I am not hungry," Mara said.

"You are always hungry," Arthur said.

"I am full," Mara said.

"You are empty," Arthur said.

Mara looked at the bowl. The meat was pulsing. It was breathing. It was waiting.

"Open it," Arthur said.

Mara reached out. Her hand was steady. Her hand was cold. She touched the lid. The lid was warm. It was alive.

She lifted the lid.

The smell hit her. It was sweet. It was heavy. It was thick. It filled her nose. It filled her lungs. It filled her blood.

She saw Sarah’s face. It was in the meat. It was in the red. It was in the wet.

"No," Mara whispered.

She put the lid back down. She pushed the bowl away. The bowl slid across the table. It hit the edge. It stopped.

"I don't want it," Mara said.

"You must eat," Arthur said.

"I won't," Mara said.

"Then you starve," Arthur said.

"I will starve," Mara said.

Arthur leaned forward. His face was close. His eyes were black. They were holes. They were pits.

"You cannot starve," Arthur said.

"I can," Mara said.

"You are made of hunger," Arthur said.

"I am made of stone," Mara said.

Arthur laughed. It was a soft sound. It was a cruel sound.

"Stone cracks," he said.

Mara stood up. She walked to the door. The door was black. The door was heavy. The door was closed.

She pushed it. It did not move. It did not open. It did not yield.

She pushed harder. Her arms burned. Her back hurt. Her muscles screamed.

It did not open.

"Go back," Arthur said.

"I won't," Mara said.

"Go back," Arthur said.

"I won't," Mara said.

"Go back," Arthur said.

Mara turned around. She looked at Arthur. She looked at the bowl. She looked at the meat.

She walked back to the table. She sat down. She picked up the bowl. The gold was heavy. It was cold. It was alive.

She lifted the lid. The smell was stronger. It was thicker. It was darker.

She saw Sarah’s eyes. They were open. They were wet. They were full of tears.

"Sarah," Mara said.

"Mara," the meat said.

Mara’s hand trembled. She dropped the lid. The lid clattered on the floor. The sound was a gunshot. The sound was a scream.

She grabbed a knife. The knife was silver. It was sharp. It was clean.

She cut a piece of meat. It was red. It was wet. It was warm.

She put it in her mouth.

It tasted of iron. It tasted of salt. It tasted of blood. It tasted of fear. It tasted of love.

She chewed. She swallowed. It was hard. It was thick. It was alive.

She looked at Arthur. Arthur was smiling. His smile was wide. His smile was white. His smile was teeth.

"More," Arthur said.

Mara cut another piece. She put it in her mouth. She chewed. She swallowed.

She did not stop. She did not look away. She did not cry. She did not shake.

She ate. She ate. She ate.

The bowl was empty. The meat was gone. The gold was dull. The gold was dark.

Mara put the bowl down. Her hands were red. Her mouth was red. Her face was red.

She looked at her hands. They were slick. They were wet. They were sticky.

She looked at Arthur. Arthur was looking at her. His eyes were bright. His eyes were full.

"Good," Arthur said.

Mara stood up. She walked to the mirror. The mirror was on the wall. The mirror was dark. The mirror was old.

She looked at her reflection. Her face was white. Her eyes were red. Her mouth was open. Her teeth were stained.

She did not see herself. She saw Sarah.

Sarah was wearing a white dress. Sarah was standing in the light. Sarah was smiling. Sarah was holding a bowl.

"Thank you," Sarah said.

Mara closed her eyes. She opened them. The mirror was empty. The mirror was dark. The mirror was cold.

She turned around. Arthur was gone. The table was empty. The bowl was gone. The knife was gone.

The room was dark. The room was silent. The room was cold.

The door opened. A small crack of light. A thin line of white.

Mara walked to the door. She stepped through. The light was bright. The light was warm. The light was soft.

She walked down a hallway. The hallway was long. The hallway was dark. The hallway was quiet.

She walked to another door. The door was white. The door was light. The door was open.

She stepped through.

She was in a kitchen. It was small. It was clean. It was bright. The light was from the window. The light was from the sun.

A woman was at the stove. The woman was old. The woman was thin. The woman was wearing an apron.

The woman turned around. She saw Mara. She smiled.

"Sarah?" Mara said.

The woman did not move. The woman did not speak. The woman looked at Mara. Her eyes were kind. Her eyes were sad.

"Sit," the woman said.

Mara sat. The chair was soft. The chair was warm. The chair was safe.

The woman put a plate on the table. The plate was white. The plate was clean.

On the plate was a meal. It was bread. It was cheese. It was fruit. It was water.

It was not meat. It was not blood. It was not life.

It was food.

Mara looked at the food. Her stomach growled. It was a low sound. It was a deep sound. It was a sound of pain.

"Eat," the woman said.

Mara picked up the bread. The bread was warm. The bread was soft. The bread was dry.

She took a bite. She chewed. She swallowed. It was sweet. It was simple. It was real.

She looked at the woman. The woman was watching her. The woman was waiting.

"Who are you?" Mara asked.

"I am your mother," the woman said.

Mara’s hand stopped. The bread was in her hand. The bread was cold. The bread was hard.

"My mother is dead," Mara said.

"Yes," the woman said.

"She died long ago," Mara said.

"Yes," the woman said.

"Then who are you?" Mara asked.

The woman smiled. It was a small smile. It was a sad smile.

"I am the hunger," the woman said.

Mara dropped the bread. The bread fell on the floor. It was white. It was clean. It was gone.

"No," Mara said.

"Yes," the woman said.

Mara stood up. She backed away. Her hands were shaking. Her breath was fast. Her heart was loud.

"Stay away," Mara said.

"I am with you," the woman said.

"I don't want you," Mara said.

"You need me," the woman said.

"I don't need you," Mara said.

"You are starving," the woman said.

"I am full," Mara said.

"You are empty," the woman said.

Mara looked at the window. The light was fading. The light was going. The dark was coming.

The dark was thick. The dark was heavy. The dark was alive.

She looked at the woman. The woman was still there. The woman was still smiling. The woman was still waiting.

Mara picked up the bread. It was on the floor. It was dirty. It was dark. It was cold.

She put it in her mouth. She chewed. She swallowed. It tasted of dust. It tasted of fear. It tasted of home.

She looked at the woman. The woman nodded. The woman smiled. The woman disappeared.

The kitchen was empty. The table was empty. The window was dark. The light was gone.

Mara was alone. She was in the dark. She was in the cold. She was in the silence.

She felt the hunger. It was in her chest. It was in her belly. It was in her head. It was in her soul.

It was not going away. It was not leaving. It was not dying.

It was part of her. It was her part. It was her life. It was her death.

She stood up. She walked to the door. The door was black. The door was heavy. The door was open.

She walked through. She walked into the dark. She walked into the night. She walked into the forever.

She was hungry. She was always hungry. She was Mara. She was the hunger. She was the meal. She was the plate. She was the knife. She was the blood. She was the bone.

She was alive. She was dead. She was here. She was gone.

The bell rang. It rang for time. It rang for hunger. It rang for always.