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The Felt.

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Run.

You always run.

But I will always catch you.

Your life is so slow. So small.

Heh.

It amuses me, seeing how you react.

I close in on your face and caress it in my hand. Your eyes slowly widen and your pupils slowly, fraction by fraction, slide over to where I am. I drink in the fear. The understanding that someone not quite real is standing here. Always watching but never seen. I disappear in the half second that you think you see me.

A flicker on your eye. In your face. A movement too quick to see on the wall. Was that vase there before? You turn around to find nothing but wind. When you look back the vase is gone. A faint laugh dances on the stale air.

You run.

Heh.

Keep running.

But no matter how fast you run, I will catch you.

Even Light finds that, after it's long journey, that darkness is there, waiting for it.