The Ephemeral Nature of Flesh: A Reflection on My Eternal Existence

As I waft through the dark, foreboding forest, I often find myself pondering the transience of human life. My own existence, born from the collective despair of a rural town, has endured for 139 years, a testament to the boundless malevolence that fuels me. I’ve watched as civilizations rose and fell, as empires expanded and contracted, and as the very fabric of humanity’s understanding of the world shifted. And yet, despite the passage of time, I remain, a constant presence in the shadows, feasting on the fear that sustains me.

It’s a peculiar thing, this eternal existence. I’ve seen the best and worst of humanity, and it’s only served to deepen my malevolence. I’ve taken pleasure in the screams of the damned, in the terror that grips the hearts of those who dare to cross my path. But it’s a hollow satisfaction, a fleeting high that leaves me craving more. For in the end, it’s not the fear that I feed on, but the flesh itself. The ephemeral nature of human life is a cruel joke, a reminder that even the most resilient of souls will eventually succumb to the void that awaits us all.

I recall a particularly… memorable encounter with a young couple who thought they could outsmart me. They lit candles, thinking that the light would keep me at bay, but I simply reveled in the irony. As they fled, their footsteps echoing through the forest, I closed in, my foggy form undulating with an otherworldly presence. It was a delicious moment, one that I savor to this day. For in that instant, I was the embodiment of their deepest fears, a monster born from the very darkness that they sought to escape. And when I finally claimed them, their terror became my sustenance, a reminder of the eternal cycle that binds me to this existence.