A cold wind seeped into the moonlit cityscape, delicate flakes of snow drifting slowly to the earth between the imposing skyscrapers. The night was silent, broken only now and again by the sounds of the wind hitting the sides of the structures that dotted the lifeless city streets.
All alone in the night, there was a dark haired figure, crouched atop one of the smaller buildings that was tucked away neatly in the shadows of the larger ones, his breath coming out in small puffs as he watched the snowflakes fall.
He reached out with a leather clad hand, catching one of the crystalline forms in his palm, taking in every line and sharp angle that formed its unique structure. Sometimes, on nights such as this, he found his heartstrings being tugged at ever so slightly. He felt connected to them after all, he understood the pain that they were too fleeting to feel: individually handcrafted by God to be distinct and unique, each somehow more breathtaking than the last. Yet, they would never know it.
He gently turned over his hand, allowing the lone flake to fall: another beautiful creation lost to the storm, never to be recognized for its individual beauty after that moment. It was luckier than most though, if only for a moment, it had been appreciated. Most would simply fall and fade into the crowd, never to be recognized for their uniqueness before they melted away, lost to the earth in their unremarkable deaths. The man often felt that way, underappreciated and forgotten.
He was an artist, a mask-maker; and his passion was for crafting a person's life story into a single moment. The masks he made were much unlike the masks people wore as they passed through their day to day lives, hiding the ghosts of their pasts beneath a beautiful lie. No, his creations were often seen as something terrible, often adorned with grotesque features that were harsh on the eyes. His masks were real, they were the true faces that lie deeply hidden in the heart of their master, the sum of every heartbreak, every sin, every pain that built them into who they are. A person's true face was never pretty, it was scarred and blood stained, streaked in innumerable tears falling from dull eyes haunted by ghosts of the past, the fighting light within their depths fading day by day. These were the faces he wanted the world to know, with each stitch he laid out their story for everyone to see. Terrible as they may be, they held a incredible beauty which never failed to captivate him. These were what made people unique, every horrible experience and deed crafting a line or angle to build something unlike any other, like the snowflakes which fell from the heavens around him. Soon to be lost to the crowd under their unremarkable masks of happiness.
He finally arose from his position on the roof's edge, shaking the clinging flakes from his body. An apology forming in his heart for letting them go, now to be forgotten until their death.
He closed his eyes as whispers began to sound, somewhere in the darkest recesses of his mind. Uta. Uta. His name repeating like a mantra. In his mind's eye a dark sea stretched out for what seemed like eternity before him, the waters black and churning dangerously, whispers floating along the wind to where he stood at the water's edge, a siren song so hauntingly beautiful it sent shivers racing down his spine. The song filled his ears, entrancing him to step closer, to step forward into the dark waves.
His eyes shot open and he collapsed down onto his knees, frustrated and fighting against what he knew was to come. He watched the snowflakes again as they fell, trying to focus on anything but the whispers which were becoming louder and more menacing. He was afraid to even blink, eyes watering from the blistering winds he started out into the night, he wouldn't hold out long like this. His heart filled with an indescribable emotion as the scene before him blurred away, his eyes eventually closing against his will, if only for a moment. Unfortunately it was a moment too long.
A searing pain shot through his skull. He bit down harshly on his gloved hand, forcing himself to not scream out. He continued to struggle, not wanting to let go of his control, telling himself he would not give in and admit defeat. It was a hopeless struggle thought, his vision rapidly grew darker until he could see nothing but that sea stretching out before him. Tendrils creeped out from the water, wrapping around his now shaking form and caressing away the pain only the stab through him once more, urging him forward as they did. His strength of will quickly faded, the pain and pleasure blurring into one as he took a step forward, then another, walking deeper and deeper until the water reached his throat.
He paused, his voice barely a whisper over the crashing waves as he sent out a single prayer to the dark whispers for mercy, though such a thing was forfeit to him by birthright. He took a deep breath and moved a foot forward, preparing himself for the next step that would send him over the drop-off point. He didn't get his chance though as the tendrils gave a hard shove, sending him spiraling down into the bottomless abyss.