Wooo! I want to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited this story. You guys rule!

I decided to continue for two reasons. One was because of the positive feedback; the other was because I feel like I didn't give the story an actual ending.

Anyone hoping this is going to be a story where Pyramid Head finds love and what not will probably be very disappointed. Alas, this is a pretty angsty fic.

Also, Xuchilbara is not mine. It is mentioned briefly in the games as another one of Pyramid Head's names.

: D Hope you all enjoy this next installment. Probably only one or two chapters left after this.

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The town is slowly draining me of what I once was.

I had once been innocent looking; I remember looking rather young. It couldn't have been that long ago…

The days and nights in this town come and go, but time never really passes.

How long ago has it been since I left my own life and to come to this Hell?

As the days pass, I grow darker and the town opens its arms to me like a mother to its child.

My skin grows paler and my eyes are completely blacked out. I wonder; do I look like the nurses? Am I a horrible mockery of twisted perfection? I feel like a corpse; I walk around sure, but I don't want to eat or sleep or breathe.

I feel a bit more helpless as the day's progress. I am becoming something terrible, something meant to punish and purify…

I am unwilling to accept my fate. Even here in this Hell, I am alone. The other dark ones ban together; a horrifying coalition.

I walk the streets of Silent Hill alone and without purpose. Who do I have to punish? What do I have to live for?

If it wasn't for Him, I would have surely given up long ago.

Since our meeting in Alchemilla hospital, I have kept my distance. Watching the Executioner is at times pure bliss, and at times heart-breaking.

Touching his marble skin had deafened all my conscious thoughts; all of my instincts to run. All I had known in those moments where my fingers grazed his skin was want. I was lacking that which could make my existence here bearable.

And every time I realize what can never be, I break. I weep in the darkest, blackest pits of the town. I wail and I scream and I beg for death.

This town doesn't grant me any kind of release though. Only more suffering. More wanting.

What sins had I committed to land me such a horrific fate? I could handle having to go through this town, having to fight for my life to redeem myself for my sins…

But to watch Him walk the streets every day, shrouded in fog and mystery, is too much for me to handle. I can only want, never have. If the town is trying to roughen my heart; beat it into pieces so I can punish without regret, it's doing a damn good job.

I have become a powerful symbol in this town; a symbol of lost hope, a symbol of pure desperation and defeat. The lower beasts hear my wails and cower in the darkness.

Each day the tears spill out of my eyes and I am as powerless to stop them as the sky is as powerless to stop the ash from falling.

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In the depths of the town, I weep.

I cry until I can no longer see straight; until my nose has a thick stream of mucus running from it. Until my head hurts so bad I just want to bash it in. The sounds of my wails and whimpers aren't pathetic; they are desperate. I scream, I choke, and then I scream again.

It's a horrible existence.

I'm so caught up in my own depression that I don't hear Him. Not until the door is thrown open.

I try my best to stare at Him wide eyed, but all I can manage is a dull half-lidded glance.

"Go away Executioner. I don't feel like playing today."

Why are you still in this town?

I wipe my nose on my dirty jacket and choke on a half formed laugh, "Obviously because I love it too much to part. I am bound here."

Why do you weep? You seem resigned to being bound here. Go vent your frustrations on the Order.

"Why the Hell do you care?" I snap at him, putting as much venom into my tone as I can.

I live here. I can't get a moments rest with your screaming.

I bring myself to my feet and glance at him, "Rest? The Red God needs rest?"

You're clever. I have many names; that is just one of them. What do I call you, little shadow?

"Whatever you want." I don't want Him to call me anything. I don't want to be in His thoughts at all. I don't want to speak with Him. Holding Him at a distance at least makes it easier for me to cope; having Him close just makes loving him harder.

Xuchilbara leans forward ever so slightly and holds His hand, palm up, out to me. I can see the lines in His hands filled with blood and dirt. I'm dreaming, I'm sure of it.

Come little shadow.

Before my brain can catch up with my body, my small hand is in His large one.

I feel like fainting. I feel like I'm drowning; crushed underneath waves of relief. I feel like my hand is meant to be in His. I feel foolish for thinking that; it's just too imperfect.

Pure euphoria invades all of my senses and steals the breath away from my lungs.

God is the best drug.

He turns, the great knife swinging out behind Him, and I follow Him into the shadows.

I take one look at our clasped hands and suddenly I don't care where He is taking me. If He can kill me, then He can go ahead.

It would be the best death I could ever hope for.