A mouth opens—lips drawn into an o, long curved teeth, and a pink tongue desperate for blood. This was my final sight before my body went into the belly. A terrifying sight, but not as terrifying as writing a letter here, in the stomach of a beast. I’m writing this to the next person who falls inside here because I know another person will fall inside here. This beasts hunger is insatiable. There are bones down here; too many of them. Anyway, I hoped to give you some aid for the torture this is. Something to read at the very least. The paper from my notebook doesn’t disintegrate, don’t ask me how. … I’m sorry. No one should have to die like this. I’m sorry. … I have a story to tell you. I hope you enjoy it. It’s the one my mother told me when I was scared. Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in the stars. She wore a dress of nebulae with shades of every color—she was beautiful. The princess was grace made creature. The princess skipped across every moon, every star, planets green and barren, her heels tasted infinity until one day she fell into a darkness that was also infinite, and cold, and terrifying. As the blackness became deeper and wider, the princess could feel the world of light slip away. The princess ran, and leaped, and bounded, but there was no way she could step outside of the dark. There was no one to come to her aid. The whole thing was desperate. She slipped into a deep depression. All that was left in that infinite black was her sadness, and her yearning to touch the light again. To be with her family. To taste the kiss of old lovers. She wanted to live again, but this was the end of her marriage with the light. This story does have a happy ending. For millennia, the princess stayed in the dark. Tortured by every thought. Feelings of boredom, loneliness and fear. There was nothing for her in there, but one day, she spoke and realized that after all these years she still had the sound of her own voice. Something else lived inside this place other than darkness. It felt like another person. So she continued to speak, and she continued to listen, and the girl became friends with herself again. There was laughter, and joy, and hope, and grace, all bursting from the darkness. It was light. And from that light we’re birthed stories. Brilliant, magnificent stories. Soon the princess wasn’t alone anymore, but these characters became people, her companions, her breath. Brilliance was found again. Wonder was found again. The darkness became beautiful again, and somehow, she thanked it. Because what she found in her voice, her stories, her poetry was a magic that erased the tides of death. Something new was born from a void, and it blossomed throughout the edges of the universe. Wrapping infinity in a wreath of roses. A crown of indigo, and fire Lilly, and wildflower. It was gorgeous. That is the story. If you are down here I want you are know that you not alone. I am here with you, and I’ll always be. Though we will never know each other’s names we will have learned our voices. That is enough for us to love each other. I was a traveling storyteller before I was consumed by the mouth of the beast. I have a back pack full of paper, and journals, and pencils. It all conveniently floats in the stomach acid. Write your stories. Teach the next person your voice. Return them into the bag when you are done. That way the paper doesn’t disintegrate. Because it’s hard to die, but even harder to die alone. I’m sorry that you are here. I truly am, but this is how we heal. How we grow, and how we become light even at the edges of darkness. At least, that’s what I believe. I hope this was of some help. Farewell I loved your life.