[ A voice recording, late at night. Al is outside in the dark, in the cold. It makes him sound tense, yet there's also a dreamlike softness. Always in their language: ]
Death isn't death, here. No one can truly die. I've seen it. You have, too. The bodies. The grief. All mean nothing when they rise as beasts. And then… [ Whispered sharply, ] Voilá.
[ There's a long pause. Quietly, ]
A question haunts me, my Death. If no one can truly die, are we really alive?
voice, forward dated to end of the month/event
Death isn't death, here. No one can truly die. I've seen it. You have, too. The bodies. The grief. All mean nothing when they rise as beasts. And then… [ Whispered sharply, ] Voilá.
[ There's a long pause. Quietly, ]
A question haunts me, my Death. If no one can truly die, are we really alive?