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I am somewhere between realities. A long corridor stretches before me with doors every few feet. They can't possibly lead to rooms because they're too close together to allow a room to be made. A cool mist is on the floor and everything is cold. I feel it creep into my soul, my bones. I have been here often but it never fails to chill me.

For I know that I am one of the few people to ever lay eyes on this place...alive. The land of the dead opens its gates only to ghosts and to a few select people. People with the spirit mark. I have one on my right hand. I know what it looks like even as I glance toward that gloved hand. A circle inscribed with another circle. Within that smaller circle is an eight-pointed star made of two squares. Within this star is an octagon. Within each point of the star is a rune of some forgotten language and between each point are more runes from the same language. In the center of all this is another rune from another dead language. It glows golden when I come and leave this place and when I wipe a memory.

I wish I didn't have this ability. But I do. And as I feel death creep into my bones, I know that I must use it to keep those innocent souls around me safe. I didn't ask for this power but I cannot change the fact that I have it.

I think of the world of the living and find it rushing to meet me. The warmth that floods my body burns me and I find myself wondering if I am truly alive. Or am I a part of a race of people that is not truly alive? Perhaps I am part death. Maybe not. All I know is that I want to sleep. I want to sleep and find this all to be a dream.