The song never ends, tracing red words with cold fire, like bleeding in the snow. No, that's not what it's like. That isn't what it is. The red isn't right, sick and delicious and-
The song isn't ending. I've never heard anything so beautiful. It's so beautiful, and it makes me better, it makes me so much better. Stronger, faster. I can do anything like this.
But it feels- It grows inside, sharp and cold-hot. It's in everything, singing in every fibre. It hurts, but you don't want it to stop hurting. Or maybe you do. When it stops hurting, the red has you. All of you, sharp and alive and growing, growing. It's in my bones, my blood. It's in my heart, I can feel it. Thump, thump. Even, steady. It'll be everywhere soon. Inside, outside. Everything will be red.
They tell me it's better when it stops hurting. They tell me everything's okay. They say it's all right to want more of it. But I don't want it. I need it. I feel sick when I don't get it, pain worse than when everything shone blue. I liked the blue. The blue sung too, and itched, but it was just a hum. I thought it was everything then. I could never have guessed there was something like it, something better-worse.
Sometimes I scratch when they're not looking. I try to dig it out. The crystals break then, finer, deeper. I can't get it out. There's no way to be anything else but red. Like blood. We've shed so much blood.
Something isn't right. We're not supposed to do these things. It is our duty to protect. But the red… I can't get rid of it. I'm stuck with it. So why not give in?
It's stopped hurting now. Nothing hurts. Nothing will ever hurt again.
The song is so beautiful.