Prologue
He held out his hand, but how could I take it? Me - the giver of nightmares, the monster under your bed, the knife in your back, the one with plenty more than two faces - oh, how he knew better than anyone else, and yet he still kept his hand out.
That lazy smirk I knew all too well made a reappearance, and the freckles born on summer days came back to life. I could feel the slow, humid breeze hit the back of my neck and the sticky sweet taste of a popsicle on the tip of my tongue that came from a time when the sewer just had drainage problems.
I took his hand and the dust settled, bringing me back down to the depths of the sewer.
"Here we go again."