Chapter Text
There used to be people here.
This site, this place, the signs are there, and the stories they tell belong to lost whispers, an echo beyond the curtain of recollection, out of reach of the current living generations.
The pages of Dunkeleter are fragmented, worn away like old film left to rot, what pages I have from what information I received I can only conjure a loose theory out of.
Dunkeleter is a corpse, rotted down to the very bone, carrion and scavengers long since moved on, and what remains of what once was, now a skeleton, empty eye sockets gazing back upon the observer.
The cause of death? The Grand Hysteria, it's always the Grand Hysteria bearing the knife of liminality, the red flags against smouldering skies bared warnings in blood, yet the onset was none the softer, the blade swift, splitting our perception of time into Post-Hysteria, and Pre-Hysteria, and the world bled and bled for decades on, and decades after...
It's a strange breed of nostalgia to feel the aftershocks of such a historical period, three generations after it happened, bittersweet and tense on the mind, as it is on the tongue, discussing it.
Next to no generation of the Hysteria remains, many claimed by the cold hand of apathy, others cut themselves loose of the mortal coil, what remains are their survivors, halved to four billion, three generations onwards, the wound is still raw, the blood has clotted, but the pain remains, impossible to ignore.
And the more I think about it, the more heavy I feel, this site, this skeleton, a remainder of what was Pre-Hysteria, and is now, Post...
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