I stand there in the solemn silence.

The thick, damp fog has become my air.

I feel my being, my very sense of existence, peeling away from me.

I am fading, and she is there - watching.

In my conception, she has no face.

All I know is her back, which has become a permanent fixture in my vision.

She is my shadow, yet I am her chains.

I limit her to this plane of existence.

I prevent her from heading to the overworld.

Some may consider me a martyr, but I am simply an unwilling partner.

I am dying, yet sunrise is on the horizon.

I am dying, yet the idea of living has long become a foreign experience.

I am dying, and she is coming with me.