_{❝ —————————- Ｓ Ｅ Ｔ Ｈ,    Ｒ Ｕ Ｎ  ! ❞}

                                                   _{[ ιт ωαѕη’т єνєη α тяυє ѕ¢яєαм. ]}

               _{A scream is defined as a relatively instinctive action, that has mostly a strong psychological aspect, like fear, pain, surprise, happiness, anger—— whatever sentiment lie beneath it, it has a certain level of desperation and panic that she seemed nearly incapable of emulating —- she was almost synthetic, in the sense that her only method of interaction was to approach confrontation with a phlegmatic and stoic obverse.}

                <sub>But to him —- he saw the small details when her face contorted.
               He could see the fear in her eyes, once her pupils became dilated.
He could hear the cracks in her voice, like the shattering of ceramic plates against brick walls — a hammer to a teapot or perhaps to his mother’s good china.

                                                                That was just it.
      To him, that seemingly negligible and insignificant utterance was exactly that.
                                                                  A cry for help. 

           Her scream would echo through the forest, and reverberate against his eardrums until his mind would fracture. It felt as though years upon an uncertain yet somehow finite eternity went by, where he was rendered inert—immobile—once fibrous and able limbs now made lame and weak; they  were bolted into the ground as if the chains, shackles, and rivets that suppositionally constrained him were made of the very  ice that surrounded them, firmly compacted snow itself. He couldn’t move fast enough — he told himself —- in his mind, he felt himself begin to go blind; his blood boiled and threatened to pour out his eyelids at the thought of a newborn destroying her—and with each fracture in his skull, made by lying in wait for his moment to retaliate, he lost a piece of his soul until he became lost entirely, nearly empty inside.

          He believes that our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there. And without her ; he is nothing. 

                                           To save her, would be to save himself.

     Love is said to be a force more formidable than any other. It is invisible —- it cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment, and offer you more joy than any material possession could.

 Quite literally, he is transfigured, and at a moment’s notice; clothes and a myriad of different fabrics are ripped into shreds from the sheer power his vigorous canine frame presents. Torn pieces of the clothes on his back go flying, and a belt buckle snaps like a whip, leather stretched and fallen against a sheath of sleet in a clamor.</sub> 

                     _{Most nightmares are caged in their realm by implausibilities. The sleeper slogs through quicksand in a fun house of frightening nonsense and disjointed balderdash and feigned attempts at accumulating a sense of self worth by calling attention to oneself. But everything’s all better once the bedside lamp is back on, because reality, even when it’s bad, is easily distinguished from night terror. But his nightmares were constant—-incessant—-and they beckoned him from every corner of the forest. His home had been crawling with the cold ones on their fingertips like spiders—-empty, glass-like spiders.} 

                                     _{But the [ ηιgнтмαяєѕ ] stop ————————————} 

                                                                  _{like [ ¢ℓσ¢кωσяк] .}