The bell rang. It was not a church bell. It was a bone. It hung from the iron hook in the alley behind the textile mill. It rang without wind. It rang without hand. Margaret woke in the mud. The mud was cold. It was wet. It smelled of rust and old blood. She lay still. Her breath came in short gasps. The fog was thick. It was white. It was alive. It pressed against her face like a damp cloth. She could not move. Her legs were stuck. The earth had taken her.

She tried to push. Her arms were heavy. They were made of lead. No, they were made of stone. She looked at her hands. They were pale. They were thin. The fingers were long. They trembled. A single drop of water fell from the eaves. It hit her cheek. It was cold. It was sharp. It woke her nerves. She screamed. The sound was small. It died in the fog. No one heard. No one was there.

The city rose around her. It was not a city of glass and steel. It was a city of stone and shadow. The towers were tall. They were dark. They leaned toward each other like conspiring elders. The streets were narrow. They were deep. They smelled of coal smoke and unwashed bodies. The light was grey. It was flat. It offered no warmth. It offered no hope. Margaret sat up. The mud clung to her dress. It was heavy. It dragged. She looked at the ground. There was a crack. It ran through the center of the alley. It was long. It was jagged. It looked like a wound.

She stood. Her knees buckled. She caught the wall. The stone was rough. It scraped her palm. She did not feel it. She walked. Her feet were bare. The cobblestones were cold. They bit into her skin. She walked toward the light. Or what she thought was light. It was a glow. It was orange. It was strange. It came from the window of the bakery. The baker was asleep. His face was red. He snored. The smell of bread was sweet. It was cloying. It made her stomach turn. She passed the shop. She kept walking.

She reached the square. The square was empty. The fountain was dry. The water had turned to dust. The dust was white. It looked like ash. In the center of the square stood a statue. It was a woman. The woman was tall. She was beautiful. She held a mirror in her hand. The mirror was cracked. The crack ran from the top to the bottom. It was a single line. It was dark. It was deep. Margaret stopped. She stared at the statue. The statue stared back. The eyes were empty. They were black. They were deep. They held no reflection. They held no life.

Margaret felt a pull. It was in her chest. It was in her throat. It was in her bones. She wanted to look into the mirror. She wanted to see herself. She took a step. The stone under her foot crumbled. It fell away. There was nothing beneath. It was a hole. It was deep. It was black. She looked down. She saw her own face. It was not her face. It was a mask. It was white. It was smooth. It had no eyes. It had no mouth. It was a blank. It was a void. It was her.

She gasped. She stepped back. Her heel caught the edge. She fell. She fell into the hole. The fall was long. The air was thin. The sound of the wind was loud. It screamed. It howled. It sang. She hit the ground. It was soft. It was cold. It was like snow. She lay there. She breathed. The snow was clean. It was pure. It was white. It covered her. It buried her. She was gone.

She woke again. The bell rang. It was loud. It was sharp. It pierced her skull. She opened her eyes. She was in the room. The room was small. The walls were bare. The floor was wood. It was old. It was creaky. The bed was narrow. The sheets were thin. They were cold. She sat up. Her head throbbed. Her body ached. Every bone hurt. Every muscle burned. She looked at her hands. They were her hands. They were real. They were warm. They were alive. She touched her face. It was hers. It was real. It was warm. She was here. She was alive.

The door opened. It creaked. It groaned. A man stood in the doorway. He was tall. He was thin. He wore a coat. The coat was black. It was long. It reached his ankles. His face was pale. His eyes were dark. They were deep. They were empty. He did not speak. He looked at her. He waited. Margaret looked at him. She did not know him. She did not remember him. She felt a fear. It was cold. It was sharp. It was deep.

"You are late," he said. His voice was low. It was soft. It was smooth. It was like silk. It was like ice. Margaret blinked. She did not understand. She opened her mouth. No sound came out. Her throat was dry. Her tongue was thick. She tried again. Still no sound. She coughed. A trickle of blood ran from her lip. It was red. It was bright. It was real.

The man stepped into the room. He moved slowly. He moved silently. His feet made no sound. He stood before her. He leaned down. He looked into her eyes. He smiled. The smile was small. It was thin. It was cold. It was cruel. He reached out. He touched her face. His finger was cold. It was hard. It was like stone. He traced her jaw. He traced her cheek. He traced her eye.

"You chose," he said. His voice was clear. It was crisp. It was sharp. "You chose to stay." Margaret shook her head. She tried to speak. The words were stuck. They were jammed. They were locked. She pushed them out. They came as a whisper. "No," she said. "I didn't."

The man frowned. He tilted his head. He looked at her. He looked at the floor. He looked at the wall. He looked at the window. The window was small. The glass was dirty. The light was grey. It was flat. It was dead. He looked at her again. He shook his head. He stepped back. He turned. He walked to the door. He opened it. The fog rushed in. It was thick. It was white. It was alive. It filled the room. It covered the floor. It covered the bed. It covered her.

She screamed. The sound was loud. It was sharp. It was raw. It tore from her throat. It echoed in the room. It bounced off the walls. It hit the ceiling. It came back down. It hit her ears. It hurt. The man did not move. He stood in the doorway. He watched. He waited. He smiled. The fog rose. It touched her feet. It was cold. It was wet. It was heavy. It pulled at her legs. She kicked. She thrashed. She fought. The fog did not care. The fog did not stop. It rose. It touched her knees. It touched her waist. It touched her chest. It touched her neck. It touched her mouth.

She gasped. The fog was in her lungs. It was in her blood. It was in her brain. She could not breathe. She could not think. She could not see. The world was white. The world was empty. The world was gone. She reached out. She grabbed the edge of the bed. It was slippery. It was wet. It was cold. Her fingers slipped. She fell. She fell into the fog. She fell into the dark.

She woke. The bell rang. It was silent. It was still. It was dead. She was in the alley. The mud was gone. The stones were gone. The wall was gone. There was nothing. There was only the fog. It was thick. It was white. It was alive. It was everywhere. She was alone. She was free. She was alone.

She stood. Her feet were bare. The ground was soft. It was cold. It was wet. It was like snow. She walked. She walked into the fog. The fog swallowed her. It ate her. It digested her. She was gone. She was free. She was gone.

The bell rang. It was loud. It was sharp. It was real. It was her. It was her voice. It was her scream. It was her breath. It was her life. It was her death. It was her freedom. It was her prison. It was her self. It was her mirror. It was her crack. It was her wound. It was her blood. It was her truth.

She looked at her hands. They were white. They were thin. They were long. They were hers. They were real. They were alive. She looked at her face. It was hers. It was real. It was alive. She smiled. The smile was small. It was thin. It was cold. It was cruel. It was hers. She walked. She walked into the dark. She walked into the light. She walked into the fog. She walked into the nothing. She was free. She was gone.

The city slept. The towers stood. The stones were cold. The fog was thick. The bell rang. It was silent. It was still. It was dead. The story ended. The pain remained. The pain was hers. The pain was real. The pain was true. The pain was free. The pain was gone. The pain was here. The pain was now. The pain was always. The pain was everything. The pain was nothing. The pain was her. The pain was the world. The pain was the end. The pain was the start. The pain was the middle. The pain was the whole. The pain was the song. The pain was the silence. The pain was the breath. The pain was the stop. The pain was the life. The pain was the death. The pain was the freedom. The pain was the cost. The pain was the price. The pain was the truth. The pain was the lie. The pain was the mirror. The pain was the crack. The pain was the wound. The pain was the blood. The pain was the bell. The pain was the fog. The pain was the mud. The pain was the stone. The pain was the water. The pain was the air. The pain was the earth. The pain was the sky. The pain was the sun. The pain was the moon. The pain was the star. The pain was the void. The pain was the self. The pain was the other. The pain was the friend. The pain was the enemy. The pain was the lover. The pain was the stranger. The pain was the mother. The pain was the child. The pain was the past. The pain was the present. The pain was the future. The pain was the time. The pain was the space. The pain was the soul. The pain was the body. The pain was the mind. The pain was the spirit. The pain was the ghost. The pain was the demon. The pain was the angel. The pain was the god. The pain was the devil. The pain was the human. The pain was the animal. The pain was the plant. The pain was the rock. The pain was the dust. The pain was the atom. The pain was the particle. The pain was the energy. The pain was the matter. The pain was the force. The pain was the law. The pain was the rule. The pain was the order. The pain was the chaos. The pain was the pattern. The pain was the noise. The pain was the signal. The pain was the code. The pain was the message. The pain was the meaning. The pain was the purpose. The pain was the value. The pain was the worth. The pain was the beauty. The pain was the ugliness. The pain was the good. The pain was the bad. The pain was the right. The pain was the wrong. The pain was the true. The pain was the false. The pain was the real. The pain was the fake. The pain was the real. The pain was the real. The pain was the real.