He ran. He ran till his chest burned and his legs felt like they were no longer making contact with the ground beneath him. He ran till the world was a multi-coloured blur rushing past him, like a one-year-old's finger painting. He ran till all he could hear was the wind roaring in his ears, the sound of his quickened breath, his pounding heart. He ran until he felt like he was flying.

He soared over fences, under clothes lines, weaved in and out of people. A vague dark blur rushing past civilisation, as though unaffected by it. He couldn't hear the confused mutterings, the surprised shouts, the "get back here you little deviant" calls. He was an unstoppable force, rushing through and beyond all obstacles. Nothing else mattered, except for the bundle in his arms.

He could still envision what happened shortly before he bolted. He could still see the market, the mustard-blooded, large man and the brown-blooded, small woman standing behind the counter, plunging the manifestations of their endlessly hard work into big, loud, brown paper bags. He could still see himself selecting various things. He had no idea what to look for in an apple, a potato, a leek. He didn't know what was ripe and what wasn't. He could hardly distinguish a cabbage from a head of lettuce. But his family needed to eat and if the vegetables the hard-working farmers were depositing into this bag was the only thing that could sustain them any longer, then he wouldn't hesitate to take them.

He could still remember the feeling of the warm coins in his hand, deep in the depths of his pocket. They had been there a long while, collecting. Each coin he found on the ground, each small offering a stranger placed in his hand, or dropped at his feet, each time he managed to slip a few from a wealthy man's pocket, had accumulated into the small amount he had on him. He didn't intend on getting much, just enough to last them the rest of the week. After that, he would begin accumulating coins once more.

However, after the vegetables were in place within the bag and the small woman announced a price, his heart sank. It was substantially more than he had in his pocket. It was more than his entire family had, most likely. Resources were so expensive nowadays, that it was difficult to even purchase a few vegetables to make a soup that could feed a small family for a week. The small woman detected his expression, and frowned, clearly noticing his inadequacies. She leaned in and shot a glance to her husband, before whispering a smaller price. This price was still nowhere near the funds he had on him. But he didn't make this as noticeable. Instead, he perked up, pretending to be relieved, and agreed that that would be acceptable. He then reached into his pocket at the same time as he reached for the brown, paper bag. Once he could feel the weight of the bag in his arms, he took a deep breath…

And he ran.

He could still hear the small woman and the large man shouting at him as he bolted away. He couldn't help but smirk to himself as he cleared another fence, clutching tightly to the bag of vegetables.

He had never done this kind of thing before. Truth be told, he never thought he would have to. But when the war broke out and the oppression of the Lowbloods by the Highbloods happened, so much so that he had to hide his blood colour from the general public in order to survive, and his father rose up to be the saviour of their kind, and was inevitably defeated, his entire family was tossed into chaos. He was lucky his grandmother managed to escape the clutches of the Highbloods to raise his brother and sisters, along with himself. His younger sister and he were the ones who made the best of the situation, assisting his grandmother in their raising, trying to gain as much money as possible to help the household, cleaning, washing, cooking, surviving. His older sister was rarely home but he knew she struggled with existing in a life she had never wanted, and attempted to flee from it – she survived in her own way. His eldest brother, on the other hand, was cruel, overly sensitive, cold, and spoke endlessly, without rest, for hours, about nothing particularly interesting, or relevant. Nevertheless, he loved his family, and he would do what it took to ensure their happiness, or at least their continued existence.

Once his home come into view, he felt his heart slow, his breath ease, his legs calm. It wasn't a large house by any means, but it certainly wasn't a shack. It was inherited from his grandmother's family, being jade-bloods, they were born into a respectable amount of money. Unfortunately, when his grandmother was captured and tortured, she was stripped of her titles as a jade-blood, her wealth taken from her, her statuses in society diminished from a respected, upper-class lady, to merely "the woman who raised The Sufferer". Frankly, she was lucky to have kept her life, let alone her family home.

The moment he walked into the door, he smelt mould, dust, and vinegar. Cleaning supplies were difficult to come by, and his grandmother often managed to convince some of the chip stands in summer to give her some of their old vinegar, rather than disposing of it. She would mix it with water, which she had to pump, and cleaned with it. It rendered the home with a rather unpleasant scent, but it was just that – home.

"Karkat? Is that you?" he heard his grandmother from the kitchen.

"Yeah, I just got in."

He brought the bag into the kitchen, and reluctantly placed it on the table. Letting go of the thing he had sacrificed much to obtain was rather difficult, but he knew he had brought it to the right place, and hopefully done the right thing.

"Karkat!" his grandmother breathed, peering into the depths of the bag. "Where did you get all this? How could you afford it?"

"I had saved up enough," he lied. "The woman at the stand seemed convinced enough by my meek physique to charge me less than normal price for these things. Can you do anything with them?"

"Well, yes," she hesitated for a moment, before pulling things out and observing them. He was worried they would be insufficient, but he supposed it was better than the old, half-rotten vegetables they managed to weasel out of various merchants in the past. "These are lovely apples."

He felt a sense of pride within himself for having pleased the woman who raised him. She had done so much for him, his brother, and especially his father.

She wasn't biologically related to Karkat, or his brother, Kankri. She had essentially foster-housed and raised Karkat's father, once known as The Signless and, eventually, The Sufferer. Once she escaped, she found Karkat and Kankri, mere grubs at the time, and adopted them as well. She knew, by the blood colour (a hidden affair, even then), and the small, rounded horns, that they were both the spawn of The Sufferer. At the time, she also had Porrim, who was a bit younger than Kankri, and Kanaya, you was just older than Karkat. They all hit it off immediately, and were easily raised together, despite their usual sibling rivalries. Karkat wasn't sure how The Dolorosa, his grandmother, managed to ensure their survival, when regarding it retrospectively.

There lived three tyrannical rulers. Her Imperious Condescension was the queen bee of the entire planet. She ruled with a golden trident (or a 2x3dent as she called it) and a cruel and greedy outlook. Formerly a queen of the seas, this tyrian-blooded bitch cared only for her own gain and not for the shortcomings of others that may result in this gain. It was easy for her to gain control, due to her seemingly unending lifespan and inability to age. She worked alongside a vast and powerful Lusus, sentient beasts capable of reason and knowledge beyond that of trolls, who had lent its power to ensure her rise in control. But she was hardly the worst of their problems, as she enjoyed sitting at the top of her hill, watching the little ants play below. No, there were more up-close and personal leaders that the common people were educated to fear.

The seas were governed by Orphaner Dualscar. He attempted to have The Dolorosa killed, but before his plot could unfold, she managed to escape and flee back to the city, which was where her family home was situated. The kismesissitude between Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, the pirate queen, and Dualscar was ended when he, too, put a bounty on her head. There was talk about an unrequited love between The Condesce and Dualscar, though it was never confirmed (but as far as Karkat was concerned, they were most likely made for each other). Dualscar, despite being the leader of the seas and therefore the seadwelling trolls, was a murderer (hence his name), but even his wrath was no match for the utter mindless tyranny of the land leader.

The Grand Highblood was a psychotic, murderous, bloodthirsty beast whose lust for death and subjugation ruled over all the land. It is said he does not have a companion in the world, and instead has followers; anyone who attempts to get close to him, is ultimately killed, and their blood added to the impressive mural upon the walls of his throne room. He watches over the common people, the slums, even the higher bloods on land, and any oddity he spots, he eliminates without question. There was talk about him sending his cultist followers, individuals who worked as both servants and enforces of his rule, the subjugglators, into the slums and streets in search of trolls to bring to him for purposes unknown – though none taken were seen or heard from again. He worked under control of The Condesce, like Dualscar, though his unpredictable nature and thirst for blood made him extremely dangerous. It was he who The Sufferer had revolted against. Though the strength and power of the three leaders, especially The Grand Highblood, easily defeated and ended the attempted revolution, resulting in the deaths or enslavements of many strong men and women.

There were many strong trolls which blindly followed the wrath of these killers. Some follow, but are not so blind. Neophyte Redglare was a loyal follower of The Grand Highblood's, though is said to secretly wear the sign of The Sufferer as a symbol for her belief in justice and support of the underground movement still existing despite The Sufferer's defeat. Executor Darkleer was a follower of The Grand Highblood's before being unable to slay The Sufferer's most loyal companion, The Disciple, and was banished, becoming Expatriate. And when it came to Mindfang, she was a pirate queen and could not be caught. Only once was she ever captured, but she escaped too easily. It's a mystery where she was now, but one couldn't help but admire her. The Dolorosa spoke of her fondly, suggesting that perhaps the two had a history, though it was very rare if The Dolorosa ever spoke of her past.

On the other side of the spectrum, many who had revolted against the Highblood leaders were dead, or enslaved. One of the greatest players in the revolution, who fought alongside The Sufferer, was The Psionic. He was perhaps suffering the worst outcome, and his sole purpose was to become The Helmsman, moving forth, and becoming a literal part of, The Condesce's ship, using his remarkably powerful telekinetic abilities, completely out of his control to do so – consistent, endless torture.

The Summoner, another huge player in the revolution, took command of an army of creatures, called Cavalreapers. He had even grown wings, which assisted him in rising up other trolls to fight in the revolution. His rise and defeat was not a long story, but he was not killed. Instead, he was banished off the planet, into space, where it was said he was in search of Mindfang, who piloted the wilds of outer space.

The Disciple was a loyal companion of The Sufferer's, and also said to have been his lover. Not much is known of her, other than her unending and undying love for The Sufferer, and need to spread his word and prophecies. Executor Darkleer could not bring himself to kill her, and it was said that it was due to an unrequited love that existed between them. It is unknown whether or not she was killed. Word had gone around that she had been spotted in caves, hiding out. Oddly enough, strange bloody scrawls were left on the caves in which she had been said to reside, and could be deciphered into teachings… perhaps those of The Sufferer.

These things and more, Karkat had learned by himself. The Dolorosa spoke little about political affairs and scandals, mostly because she had been such a huge part of it, and now was attempting to fade into the shadows to live out the remainder of her life taking care of his siblings. From newspapers and gossip, had the young troll learned about the past of his people and the current situations. The Dolorosa had taught Karkat and his siblings the ways of the tyrannical leaders, who they were, and why they were to be feared and not respected. It was clear that she didn't want her family undergoing the same torment The Sufferer had, because he loathed the rule of the Three and vowed to bring it down. In her eyes, Karkat, Kanaya, Porrim, and Kankri would be better off residing in the shadows, away from the watchful eyes of the leaders' spies.

"I'm gonna head over to Sol's" Karkat announced as he slung his bag over his shoulder a few hours later. He had completed all of his chores and done what was asked of him by his caregiver. Kanaya was in her bedroom, doing what she usually did by herself, while Kankri and Porrim were both long gone, doing their own things with their own friends. It was time, Karkat thought, to do the same.

"Karkat, wait," Dolorosa stopped him as he placed his hand on the cool brass of the doorknob. He frowned and faced her, curiously. "There's something I want to show you first."

She then produced something from the folds of her black-and-jade skirts. It was a rather large key, cast iron, and intricate. He had seen this key many times, and the hole in which the key entered. The cellar door always remained locked, and Karkat had never bothered questioning this. It simply was a thing that was, since long before his childhood. He had never seen the door open, and only once had he ever recognized activity occurring within it. Once, in his youth, when he couldn't sleep, he dared to descend from his bedroom upstairs, down the long hallway parallel to the kitchen, where the old, lead paint-chipped door was still firmly shut. He hadn't seen his grandmother slumbering away the night in her bedroom, as was usually the case, and he dared not open the door. However, light shone out from the cracks in the door, though no sound paired with it. He had then gone into Kanaya's room, and they chatted the night away about what could have been in there.

And he walked, with The Dolorosa, down the long hallway that ran parallel to the kitchen, towards the chipped-painted door, where he watched the key plunge into hole. She then twisted it, and it made an audible click. The door moaned as she opened it, pulling back the wooden slab to reveal the darkness within. With a click of a light, the stairs were illuminated, but everything beyond them was hidden. She descended the steps first, and beckoned for Karkat to follow her, which he did.

The cellar was low-ceilinged but large, with doorways that extended into other areas, and vents and pipes which lined the ceilings above. It was kept fairly clean, no low-hanging cobwebs or thick layers of dust. There was a shelving unit on the far wall, on which there sat candles, evidence of their burning clear by the sobbing wax, tears hardened to its surface. The Dolorosa was the first to reach the shelves, and she opened a drawer, which growled huskily as wood scraped against wood. The drawer was empty, safe for paper clips, matches, old receipts, pins and buttons, and other miscellaneous items one would expect to find in a drawer in the basement. However, she touched nothing in the drawer, as her long, pale fingers reached underneath the counter above the drawer. Whatever action she performed, it was lost to Karkat's eyes, but a sound could be heard behind the pair.

Karkat spun around, and his curiosity was not yet sated, as nothing in the room seemed to change. The Dolorosa led him to a cement wall, which was completely seamless, until she pushed herself against it, bumping it slightly with her hip, and a large rectangular chunk of the wall became a recess, until The Dolorosa pushed it away, leaving another, hidden room. Inside, Karkat's breath was taken from him as he stared, in awe, at the small room.

In one corner, stood a glass case, in which the notorious uniform that The Sufferer had worn hung. It was clearly kept well cleaned and maintained. Beside it was a wall unit, on which sat several books, and journals, and small box with a keyhole. There were several scattered papers about the room, and other boxes, none of which had the chance to collect any dust.

"This room is all that is left to remind me of my past," The Dolorosa told him as he explored the room, touching nothing. "These journals and papers are all works of your father. I wasn't allowed to save much, but whatever I could, I locked up in here, so if anyone was to happen to find me hidden away in this house, I have hopes that they would be unsuccessful in taking the things in this room from me.

"I would love for you to read these journals someday. But I worry for you, Karkat." He turned to face her, his eyebrows furrowed, watching her as she continued. "Your brother may be older, but he does not have the same leadership skills and ambition as you. You are… certainly your father's son. That is why I've brought you here. So you know that all of this exists and if there ever comes a time for you to access this room, it is because you understand why it was necessary for me to keep it all. You must learn from the past, Karkat. You must see what your father had gone through, read his thoughts and understand that despite his intentions being as altruistic and sacrificial as they were, they were for naught, and all his efforts were lost, though none in vain. Do you understand?"

He looked to her for a long moment, and for the first time since he had known her, she seemed… old. Her eyes were heavy and bagged, and the creases on her gentle face were deep. Her face was a map, trails and lines and even scars speaking volumes of her past, and leading to nothing but hope and love. Her thin, pursed lips spread into a genuine smile as she watched him, and he had to turn away, because he felt that the smile wasn't meant for him. Her eyes sparkled and reflected the case behind him, where his father stood, bodiless, but there.

"I don't know anything about him," he touched one of the journals, bound in leather which looked as though it had seen water. "I hardly know anything about you. But you insist that I must know the past and not repeat it…" he looked to her again. "Why now?"

The Dolorosa backed to a small chair in the corner opposite the display case. She sighed heavily, and looked to a box, which was marked "photos".

"I was young, once," she said. "It seems so long ago. Like perhaps maybe it never existed. But my memories thrive… I remember I was hopelessly in love with someone whose heart had little room for affection. I went to her when your father became hellbent on revolution. She was difficult to find… I didn't even know if she was still alive, but a part of me that remained with her, led me to her. And she was so powerful… She could have easily ended the war for the suffering side, but her lust for treasure and exploration kept her back turned to this world. And when I went to her for help, or guidance, she could not turn me away because of what we were to each other, but she refused to help. She kept me safe with her for years, before I allowed myself to return to this world. And when I returned, the war was already well underway. I stood with The Disciple, The Summoner, The Psionic, with your father. I helped them prepare. I prepared them to die…"

"Not all are dead."

"The Disciple is long gone, The Summoner was banished and there's no chance of his surviving the wilds of space, let alone finding Mindfang. The Psionic is suffering a fate worse than death… And The Sufferer-" her voice shook with the last words, and she stopped for a moment. When she continued, her voice was grave. "I have heard talk of revolution again, Karkat. Whispers of an uprising, of the underground movement. I fear the way things are is coming to an end, and is falling back to the way things were. If all is lost… You need to know what The Sufferer knew, paired with what The Sufferer did not know – what you know now. And if the dawn does rise, and light shines upon the end of these simple days, you need to understand that there is only one place you can turn when you are backed into a corner."

It wasn't long afterwards that The Dolorosa's prophecies seemed to be more than the ramblings of a heartsick old woman. House raids didn't often happen, but occasionally, the Grand Highbood would send forth his Special Forces unit, the subjugglators, into the lower-income areas. It had been a while, too, since posters displaying Karkat's beloved grandmother's visage had been hung upon posts and walls within the cities and residential districts. But suddenly, both those things paired and became far more frequent. Karkat began to see a younger depiction of The Dolorosa's pained expression plastered upon the walls, with the labels "DANGEROUS" and "EXTREMELY WANTED" hovering about her image. He and his friends had begun discussing rumours about frequent house raids of families from lower-hemospectrum bloodlines. His best cover has been the "high-class" appearance of his home, which kept the subjugglators out of the area, and also its distance from the ghetto. But Karkat supposed it was only a matter of time before they came a-knocking.

It didn't happen in the dead of night, under the cloak of darkness, away from prying eyes. No, it happened in the middle of the day, while Karkat, Kanaya, Kankri, and Porrim lounged about in the home, The Dolorosa lost in a book in the sun room. The door had been kicked in, and the black-robed, masked figures poured into the home like black liquid, filling it and destroying it, knocking over tables, pushing things off shelves, aimlessly demolishing everything that had taken so long to rebuild. Kanaya and Kankri had been trapped upstairs, while Porrim was in the kitchen, and Karkat in the living room. Kankri and Kanaya had been quick to flee the upstairs, and slithered through the reaching grips of the subjugglators. The farthest room from the front, where they tore everything apart searching, was the sun room, and everyone crept towards it, keeping hidden. Kankri was panicking, and Porrim worked to keep him still, calm, and, especially, quiet, though it did little good. Kanaya was standing closest to the door, constantly glancing and informing the rest of how close the subjugglators were to the family.

"There's a loose window in the cellar which leads outside," The Dolorosa said, quickly, her shaking hands fumbling with the key as she thrust it into Karkat's grasp. "Get to there."

With a nod and a brisk "let's go", Karkat led the family slowly and carefully through the home. The subjugglators weren't trained in infiltration, so they hardly knew how to properly investigate or even pillage a home. They had divided into two groups, it seemed. The larger had embarked upstairs, and the smaller was currently into the kitchen. The five crept quietly, and achingly slowly down the hallway which ran parallel to the kitchen, towards the chipped-paint door.

They had made it to the doorway to the kitchen, where they could hear the muffled voices and laughing and destruction happening within. Karkat sent Kanaya first to pass the doorway, as she was the tallest, but most agile. She easily bounded, like a deer, to the other side of the doorway, where she outstretched her arms for The Dolorosa, who quickly dashed, with ballerina grace, to her side. Next, was Karkat, who skidded across and outstretched his arms for Kankri to come running. Kankri's heart was pounding heavily in his chest, and he stared at the doorway as though it was threatening to swallow him piece by piece. Porrim rubbed his shoulders and eased him slightly, telling him that everything would be alright once he passed the doorway. It took him a while before he finally gained the courage to hold his breath, close his eyes, and run across. Though because of his fears, his eyes flashed open and he glimpsed into the kitchen, where he saw the dark figures tearing apart his home. His legs then stopped working in mid-sprint, and he fell, hard and loud, onto the floor at the threshold of the door. Porrim practically scooped him up and brought him to the other side of the door, but it was too late.

The subjugglators came pouring out of the kitchen like someone had uncorked champagne. Thankfully, Karkat already had the key in the door, and was holding it open. Kanaya, and Porrim, who was still tightly clutching a very still and very quiet Kankri, ran into the cellar. Just as Karkat turned to insist on his grandmother going after them, he heard the sound of the subjugglators stomping down the stairs, drawing nearer.

"Go, quickly!" Karkat began to shout, but he received no reply. Instead, he saw a small, slow trickle of thick, jade liquid fall from the corner of The Dolorosa's mouth, and trickle down her fair skin. His eyes followed the drop, and fell upon a sharp, jade-stained blade pointing accusingly at him from through the woman he had learned to consider a grandmother.

"Find her," she said to Karkat, her voice feeble and quivering, her lips stained in jade blood. "Find Mindfang,"

She smiled then, and he could almost see relief in her eyes. "You are so much like him…"

And as quickly as she was in his life, the woman crumpled to the floor, like she had suddenly become a simple pile of clothes, never having raised him, held him when he was afraid, nursed him when he was ill, made him laugh when he ached, and kept him alive and healthy and happy for his existence. She was but a cadaver, now. An empty shell of a loving guardian.

Reflexes kicked in, and he was flying down the stairs, having locked the door behind him, when he finally realised that he was moving. His family was huddled, small and quiet and terrified, at the bottom of the stairs, while the subjugglators pounding incessantly above. He said nothing as he dashed to the shelving unit, yanked upon the drawer, and felt along the bottom of the counter above the drawer. There was a small switch, which he pulled, and listened for the click, which came, behind him. He then threw himself against the door, shoving it open, and running inside. Kanaya was quickly at his side, stopping at the entrance to the room, muttering an almost inaudible "holy shit".

"Help me," Karkat demanded, though his voice wasn't as strong as his words. He had grabbed a box of knick-knacks and old toys, dumped it out, and had begun filling it with journals and papers that were stacked upon the shelves.

"Tell me what to do," Kanaya insisted.

Karkat pointed at the case where his father's uniform was, before tossing her a box of matches that he had found in the drawer in the shelving unit. "Burn it."

"Why?"

"If the subjuggulators find out who we are and our history, we'll be hunted harder than the pirate queen." Karkat insisted before looking to her. "Please."

Kanaya hesitated for only a moment longer, before yanking open the case, lighting a match on the side of the box, dropping it back into the box of matches, and tossing it into the case. The entire box immediately ignited, and it didn't take long before the uniform was being lapped at by the flames. They watched as the fire crawled up the material, consuming all it touched. The man who wore that… All he did and stood for… Karkat clutched the box of journals tightly to him. He was his legacy, he knew that now. His thoughts were silenced when there came a single, loud bang at the door, suggesting they had retrieved something larger to break it down.

"Fuck," Karkat hissed. "We have to go. Grab that!" he pointed to the box with the keyhole, which Kanaya lunged for and held tightly onto. It was a small, wooden chest, but it was tightly sealed and heavy, suggesting that perhaps it was lined with something harder than wood. They then quickly left the room, and embarked to the loose window, which Kanaya pushed out. Karkat and Kanaya helped their sister and brother through the window, before stopping to look at each other for only a moment. Behind them the fire discovered the taste of wood of the old house, and began lapping at that as well, quickly setting fire to the home. Kanaya went to exit the window, but stopped and turned to look at him.

"Dolorosa," she merely said, to which Karkat replied with a solemn shaking of his head. Kanaya swallowed once and nodded back, before exiting the window. Karkat glanced once more into the home, sighing heavily, then looking to the box in his hands, and nodded, leaving his home through the window of the cellar.

The family went into hiding in the forest near the house. They held each other as they watched their home burn, until merely the skeleton remained, blackened and dead. The subjuggulators had quickly returned to their master, laughing and cheering as though proud of what they had done. Karkat had felt a sense of success in only one regard – his grandmother didn't want her past taken from her, so she would eternally remain with it, both in ashes.

"What do we do now?" Porrim asked, holding Kankri tightly, who was still completely silent.

"We have to find Mindfang," Karkat murmured.

"What?!" Porrim exclaimed. "But we don't even know if she even really exists!"

"She exists," Karkat snapped, looking to her. He then looked back to the home. "She wanted us to find her. So we'll find her."

And that's all that was needed. Together, the four had a massive journey ahead of them, and there was no turning back, no safety in familiarity anymore. Only progression. Karkat was the last to turn away from his home, guided by Kanaya's calming hand on his shoulder. There was a fire in his eyes that exceeded the reflection from his burning home. A lust for The Dolorosa's death, like that of his father's, to not be in vain. He squeezed the box and looked to Kanaya, who offered a small smile. There was confidence in Karkat that he hadn't understood before, and he wanted only to embrace it. He would find Mindfang, and he would end what his father began.

Massive, gloved hands reached down. Long, thick fingers wrapped around something small. A toy. A toy from a box, the contents of which had been dumped to make room for something else. It was a small, metal carriage. At the bottom of it, something was engraved. A six and a nine. It was tilted to the side in the large hands. A broad grin crept up a sinister visage. He had found them. Finally.

"Sir," a voice came from elsewhere. A large, shaggy head turned. Two, massive, spiraling horns reached up to the sky. No voice spoke, but the first continued. "Perhaps they went into the forest."

Wide, malicious, yellow eyes flickered over to the dark depths of the forest. Fingers closed around the small toy. Malevolence boiled deep within a massive body, like boiling oil, craving to be ignited. A yearning to end that which has begun lit a spark. Evil burned within. A step was taken, towards the forest.