The banquet hall smelled of wet wool and iron.

We ate. We drank. The candles burned low. The air was thick. It pressed against my lungs. I was a soldier. I wore the grey coat. The buttons were brass. They were cold. I looked at my hands. They were still. They were not shaking. Not yet.

The room was full. Men sat in rows. They wore the same grey. They had the same faces. Pale. Hollow. They ate the stew. It was thin. It was grey. They did not speak. They chewed. They swallowed. The silence was heavy. It had weight. It sat on our shoulders.

I watched the door.

It was tall. It was black. It stood alone. No one looked at it. No one touched it. It was the threshold. It was the edge. Beyond it, there was nothing. Or so we were told. Beyond it, there was the end.

A man sat across from me. His name was Silas. He had a scar on his cheek. It was red. It was fresh. He looked at me. His eyes were wet.

"Eat," he said.

His voice was low. It was rough.

I picked up my spoon. I lifted it to my mouth. I did not eat. I watched the door.

The fire crackled. It popped. Sparks flew. They died on the floor.

We were in the valley. The valley of the mist. It was not a real place. We knew this. We felt it in our bones. The walls were made of stone. The stone was black. It breathed. It moved. The ceiling was low. It pressed down. We were small. We were insects.

This was the place we went when we failed. When we broke. When the world outside could not hold us. We came here. We were broken things. We were put in a box. The box was dark. The box was cold.

But here, we were fed. Here, we were kept.

Silas ate his stew. He wiped his mouth. He looked at me again.

"You look at the door," he said.

"I do," I said.

"Why?"

"I want to leave."

He laughed. It was a dry sound. Like leaves scraping on stone.

"You cannot leave," he said. "There is no outside."

"There is," I said. "There is always outside."

He shook his head. His scar pulled the skin tight.

"You are tired, brother," he said. "Sleep. You will not wake."

He closed his eyes. He slept.

I did not sleep. I watched the door.

It was the only thing that mattered. It was the boundary. It was the line between here and there. Between the meat and the bone. Between the living and the dead.

I stood up.

My chair scraped the floor. The sound was loud. It cut the air. Everyone looked up. Their eyes were blank. Their eyes were empty. They stared at me. They did not blink.

I walked to the door.

My feet did not touch the ground. I felt light. I felt heavy. I was both. I was falling. I was rising.

I reached the door.

It was cold. It was ice. I put my hand on the wood. The wood was soft. It gave way. It was not wood. It was flesh. It was skin. It was warm. It pulsed.

I pushed.

The door opened.

There was light. It was white. It was blinding. It hurt. I cried out. The pain was sharp. It was clean. It was right.

I stepped through.

The room vanished. The men vanished. The stew vanished. The fire vanished.

I was alone.

I stood in the snow.

The snow was deep. It was white. It was silent. The wind blew. It was cold. It bit my face. It stung my eyes. I did not care. I was free.

I walked. I walked into the white.

The ground was hard. The ice was under the snow. It cracked. It sang.

I walked for hours. I did not know how long. Time did not exist. Time was dead. I was the only thing that lived.

I saw a tree. It was dead. It was black. It stood alone. I leaned against it. I rested.

I looked at my hands.

They were red.

I looked at my coat.

It was red.

I had blood on me.

I remembered the stew.

I remembered the spoon.

I remembered the taste.

It was not meat.

It was bone.

It was teeth.

It was hair.

I vomited.

The snow caught it. It turned red. It turned brown.

I was sick. I was dirty.

I was alive.

I stood up. I wiped my mouth.

I looked at the tree.

It was not a tree.

It was a stake.

It was a wooden stake. It was driven into the ground. It was covered in snow.

I looked at my hands.

I held a knife.

It was short. It was rusted. It was old.

I looked at the ground.

There was a body.

It was wrapped in grey.

It was Silas.

His face was hidden. His hands were tied. His mouth was open. He was dead.

I had killed him.

I did not remember.

The memory was gone. The memory was stolen.

I looked at the door.

It was behind me.

It was open.

I could see the room.

I could see the men.

They were eating.

They were waiting.

I walked back.

I walked into the dark.

I walked into the cold.

I stood before the door.

I did not go in.

I looked at the threshold.

It was a line. It was a cut.

I looked at the knife in my hand.

I looked at the door.

I understood.

The door was not a door.

It was a wound.

We were the infection.

We were the sickness.

We were the thing that needed to be cut out.

I raised the knife.

I did not cut the door.

I cut myself.

I cut my hand.

I cut deep.

The blood flowed.

It was hot.

It was bright.

I let it fall.

I let it drip.

I let it stain the snow.

I let it stain the threshold.

I was the sacrifice.

I was the price.

I was the end.

I closed my eyes.

I felt the pain.

I felt the cold.

I felt the silence.

It was good.

It was just.

The darkness took me.

The snow covered me.

The wind stopped.

The world was still.

I was gone.

The door closed.

The threshold was sealed.

The line was drawn.

The end was here.

It was not a beginning.

It was not a middle.

It was the end.

And it was enough.

The snow kept falling.

It covered the blood.

It covered the knife.

It covered the man.

It covered the truth.

It covered the lie.

It covered everything.

The white was pure.

The white was clean.

The white was blind.

I was in the white.

I was in the cold.

I was in the silence.

I was free.

I was dead.

I was alive.

I was nothing.

I was everything.

The threshold was closed.

The story was over.

The end was here.

The end was now.

The end was me.

The end was us.

The end was the door.

The end was the blood.

The end was the snow.

The end was the silence.

The end was the truth.

The end was the lie.

The end was the justice.

The end was the mercy.

The end was the peace.

The end was the dark.

The end was the light.

The end was the cold.

The end was the heat.

The end was the pain.

The end was the joy.

The end was the fear.

The end was the love.

The end was the hate.

The end was the hope.

The end was the despair.

The end was the life.

The end was the death.

The end was the now.

The end was the always.

The end was the never.

The end was the forever.

The end was the moment.

The end was the eternity.

The end was the breath.

The end was the silence.

The end was the word.

The end was the sound.

The end was the vision.

The end was the touch.

The end was the taste.

The end was the smell.

The end was the feeling.

The end was the thought.

The end was the dream.

The end was the waking.

The end was the sleeping.

The end was the living.

The end was the dying.

The end was the being.

The end was the nothing.

The end was the all.

The end was the one.

The end was the many.

The end was the self.

The end was the other.

The end was the world.

The end was the void.

The end was the door.

The end was the threshold.

The end was the line.

The end was the cut.

The end was the blood.

The end was the snow.

The end was the silence.

The end was the peace.

The end was the justice.

The end was the mercy.

The end was the truth.

The end was the lie.

The end was the hope.

The end was the despair.

The end was the life.

The end was the death.

The end was the now.

The end was the always.

The end was the never.

The end was the forever.

The end was the moment.

The end was the eternity.

The end was the breath.

The end was the silence.

The end was the word.

The end was the sound.

The end was the vision.

The end was the touch.

The end was the taste.

The end was the smell.

The end was the feeling.

The end was the thought.

The end was the dream.

The end was the waking.

The end was the sleeping.

The end was the living.

The end was the dying.

The end was the being.

The end was the nothing.

The end was the all.

The end was the one.

The end was the many.

The end was the self.

The end was the other.

The end was the world.

The end was the void.

The end was the door.

The end was the threshold.

The end was the line.

The end was the cut.

The end was the blood.

The end was the snow.

The end was the silence.

The end was the peace.

The end was the justice.

The end was the mercy.

The end was the truth.

The end was the lie.

The end was the hope.

The end was the despair.

The end was the life.

The end was the death.

The end was the now.

The end was the always.

The end was the never.

The end was the forever.

The end was the moment.

The end was the eternity.

The end was the breath.

The end was the silence.