The flame, like an angel, was the only way I could ever feel safe down here. It burned with such courage and intensity, the very same courage and intensity I wish I had. Nyctophobia. Crippling nyctophobia. The only thing that keeps me tethered to reality is this small, burning, candle. I shuddered, and a loud crash followed. Was that one of the monsters? No. No it couldn't be. Nyctophobia. The flame tickled the wick, until the wick could no longer stand the flame and burned up. I quickly searched around. Were my eyes… cracking? No. Nyctophobia. Who was banging drums in my head? Nyctophobia. I wish I knew what that meant. I cannot seem to remember anything. The only information I have is a task. Kill Alexander of Brennenburg.