The fog rolls in thick. It smells of wet stone and iron. You are walking. You must walk. The path is narrow. It winds up the hill. The air is cold. It bites your skin. You feel the chill in your bones. You are tired. Your legs ache. You keep moving. You cannot stop. There is a house ahead. It stands alone. It is dark. Only one window glows. The light is yellow. It is warm. It looks inviting. It looks safe. You quicken your pace. You need shelter. You need rest. You need to be inside.

The door is heavy. It is made of oak. It is old. The wood is dark and rough. You push it open. The hinges groan. The sound is sharp in the silence. You step inside. The room is small. It is square. The walls are bare. The floor is stone. It is cold. You shiver. You look around. There is a table. There is a chair. There is a fire. The fire is dying. It crackles softly. It gives off a faint heat. You feel a pull. You go to the chair. You sit down. You take off your boots. Your feet are sore. They are blistered. You rub them. You close your eyes. You breathe. The air is stale. It tastes of ash.

A voice speaks. It is low. It is calm. It is close. You open your eyes. A man stands by the door. He is tall. He wears a grey coat. His face is pale. His eyes are dark. They are deep. They look into you. You feel watched. You feel seen.

"Who are you?" you ask. Your voice is dry. It scratches your throat.

"I am the Keeper," he says. "I have waited for you."

"I am lost," you say. "I am cold. I need help."

"Help is what you seek," he says. "But help is what you have."

You do not understand. You look at him. He does not blink. He stands still. He is a statue. He is a shadow. You stand up. You face him. You must know. You must understand.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"Look at your hands," he says.

You look down. Your hands are trembling. They are red. They are swollen. They are not your hands. They are clawed. They are sharp. They are monstrous. You stare at them. You do not recognize them. You feel a panic rise. It is sudden. It is sharp. You try to pull them back. You cannot. They are part of you. They are always part of you.

"You are a beast," you whisper. "I am not."

"You are the beast," he says. "You have been the beast for years. You have hidden it. You have covered it. You have walked among men. You have smiled. You have spoken. You have loved. But you are a beast."

The word hits you. It is a blow. It is heavy. You stagger. You lean on the table. The wood creaks. You feel weak. You feel empty. You feel hollow.

"No," you say. "I am good. I am kind. I care for others. I protect them."

"Protect?" he laughs. It is a dry sound. It is like dry leaves. "You consume. You drain. You take their life. You take their light. You feed on their pain. You are a parasite. You are a thief."

You look at the window. The fog is outside. It is thick. It is impenetrable. You cannot see out. You cannot see in. You are trapped. You are alone. You look back at the man. He is smiling. It is a cold smile. It is cruel.

"Who is she?" you ask. "My wife. She is waiting. She loves me. She needs me."

"She is the trap," he says. "She is the lure. She brought you here. She led you to this place. She wanted you to see. She wanted you to know. She is not your love. She is your jailer."

The truth hits you. It is cold. It is hard. You remember. You remember the night. You remember the rain. You remember the silence. You remember the way she looked at you. Her eyes were wide. They were full of fear. They were full of hate. You thought she was sick. You thought she was confused. You held her. You comforted her. You fed her. You took her strength. You left her weak. You left her broken. You left her alone.

You think you were saving her. You think you were helping her. You were wrong. You were hurting her. You were killing her. Slowly. Quietly. In the dark.

"I didn't know," you say. "I didn't mean to."

"Intent does not matter," he says. "The act matters. The damage matters. You have caused pain. You have caused death. You are the source of the evil. You are the monster."

You look at your hands again. They are changing. They are shifting. The skin is cracking. The bones are bending. They are becoming claws. They are becoming weapons. You feel the power. It is strong. It is wild. It is hungry. You want to bite. You want to tear. You want to destroy.

You look at the man. He is still standing. He is watching. He is waiting. He is the judge. He is the executioner.

"I am sorry," you say. "I am so sorry."

"Sorry is not enough," he says. "You must choose. You must decide. You can run. You can fight. You can hide. But you cannot escape. You are what you are. You are the beast."

You feel the anger rise. It is hot. It is bright. It is a fire in your chest. You want to fight. You want to win. You want to prove him wrong. You want to show you are human. You want to show you are good.

You stand up. You face him. You raise your hands. They are claws. They are sharp. You move. You are fast. You are strong. You lunge at him. You swing. You strike. You hit him. You feel the impact. You feel the pain. You see his blood. It is red. It is bright. It is hot.

You stop. You look at him. He is on the floor. He is bleeding. He is not moving. He is dead. You killed him. You killed the judge. You killed the voice. You killed the truth.

You stand over him. You are alone. You are free. You are the master. You are the king. You feel power. You feel pride. You feel victory.

You turn to the door. You open it. The fog is outside. It is thick. It is cold. You step out. You walk. You walk into the fog. You walk into the dark. You walk into the night.

You hear a sound. It is soft. It is gentle. It is a voice. It is a woman's voice. It is your wife. It is your love.

"Come here," she says. "I am here. I am waiting. I am yours."

You stop. You look around. You see her. She is standing in the fog. She is beautiful. She is radiant. She is glowing. Her eyes are bright. They are full of love. They are full of light. She is smiling. She is reaching out. She is calling you.

You feel the pull. It is strong. It is sweet. It is warm. You want to go to her. You want to hold her. You want to be with her. You want to be loved.

You walk toward her. You are happy. You are safe. You are home.

You reach her. You touch her. You hold her. You feel her warmth. You feel her life. You feel her strength. You feel her light.

You look at her face. You see her eyes. They are not bright. They are dark. They are empty. They are dead.

You feel the cold. It is sudden. It is sharp. It is final. You feel the drain. It is fast. It is strong. It is total. You feel your life leave you. You feel your light fade. You feel your strength gone.

You look at your hands. They are not claws. They are not monsters. They are empty. They are hollow. They are nothing.

You fall. You fall to your knees. You fall to the ground. You are cold. You are dark. You are gone.

The fog closes in. It is thick. It is silent. It is still.

The beast is gone. The keeper is dead. The wife is waiting. The cycle continues. The story ends. The silence remains.

You are part of it. You are always part of it. You are the beast. You are the hunter. You are the prey. You are the legend. You are the distant truth. You are the shadow in the dark. You are the fear in the night. You are the end.

The fog lifts. The sun rises. The light is pale. The light is cold. The light is empty. The house is still. The door is closed. The fire is out. The ash is cold. The stone is hard. The night is over. The day begins. The world turns. The wheel spins. The story is told. The truth is hidden. The lie is believed. The beast sleeps. The keeper waits. The wife calls. The beast wakes. The beast walks. The beast feeds. The beast dies. The beast is born.

It is a cycle. It is a trap. It is a prison. It is a life. It is a death. It is a dream. It is a nightmare. It is a truth. It is a lie. It is you. It is me. It is everyone. It is no one.

The fog returns. The night falls. The dark comes. The beast wakes. The beast walks. The beast feeds. The beast dies. The beast is born.

The legend continues. The distant truth remains. The silence holds. The shadow waits. The light fades. The dark wins.

You are the beast. You are the keeper. You are the wife. You are the fog. You are the stone. You are the fire. You are the ash. You are the silence. You are the scream. You are the breath. You are the stop.

You are the end.

The story is over. The words are done. The page is blank. The mind is quiet. The heart is still. The soul is free.

Or is it?

The fog is thick. The night is long. The beast is waking. The beast is coming. The beast is here.

You are here.

The end.