The rotting dormant woodland stands and tilts and topples. Seems like each tree bends and falls and pulls itself back up. Snaps upon the streets of an empty desolate city like an Ancient Greek allegory. Purses a silent kiss of prophecy upon the cement, written within a shaking, lipstick spear gutted medieval play. Branches hang by the bark of tethers like so much flayed skin and muscle. Concrete dust and splinters like broken femurs sprawl in a flood of thick dry Gordian firewood knot. There's no simple answer to the question of the dark forest. And this place's silent beyond any librarians deepest desire for taciturn wordless-ness. And yet it's wordy in an abandoned alphabet way. Sprawling super organism sable countenance like heart stake crenellations. Carves of rigid laughter smile in the remnants of ironwood and oak and elm. Victory in death. The desert of the real. Plato's allegory exists within Plato's allegory as reality itself slips in and out of reality, creating reality. What reality? Who's reality? Maybe there's no such thing as reality.

If no one can hear a tree fall, does it? Was the bole already collapsed before it collapsed? Is this reality? The antinomy eats the dialectic like teeth and tongue and throat upon a tender heart and a crunchy skull jelly salad brain. This place is of the Kantian manifold. It's like nothing can be experienced. There're no concepts to know experience. And yet...

The distance of the aftermath of Judith's final battle with the dark forest against the revenants rots upon the topography in tenebrosity.

Two open portals remain within the final battle dead empty city subconscious of Terra Coal. One's buried under so much rock hard curl crushing flora of a knotty wood wall tomb that it's an impossibility to chop at it from the surface. The other portal is as wide as a valley and might lead to some kind of oblivion. This portal is also warped and what was on the other side isn't connected anymore, yet the portal is still active. How? The mind of Jane is disconnected from the technology. What's keeping it from closing? The trees? Could they keep it open? Maybe. Maybe something else holds it open like sisyphus rolling a rock up a hill or the bow and arrow style of Kate Bush running after her deal with God. Hope.

A man leans upon branches like an erect crucifix with a nailed Jesus erection. Watches the darkness of his imprisonment. Leans against a twisting, rough elm cross with his arms extending in a line past his shoulders. Stares downward at the intersection of his feet. There're no coffin nails holding him up. He's all abs and chest and ribs and protruding veins. He's also a psychopath. He's the void that answers back with a scream. And he's being hunted.

He recently thought to himself what it would be like if a scarecrow like him had a brain. But then it grew back. It always grows back. Unfortunate.

And who's hunting him? There's another monster existing in this place. A Terra revenant who survived the trees and the Tuurngait and the Judith and is no longer under David's spell. One of many victims who was destroyed and resurrected upon his butchery table. He's afraid of the green glowing eye monster but also kind of in love. But also annoyed with her. She hunts him and slaughters him when she finds him but she can't kill him. He can't die. She can't give him what he really wants. At least not in this hollow shadow place. The situation is frustrating and he can't figure out if he's in Heaven or Hell. Maybe Tartarus? Pleasure. Pain. Maybe he's already dead.

Wishes to know for sure, for death, which is part of the fantasy. Especially when the Terra revenant catches him. He doesn't run away too much anymore because there's no point. It's not much of a chase. She's much faster than he is. She's a black widow and he's her mate. He ultimately wants to be caught. Deserves the feel of it. Do unto others. He's no eudaemonist.

When she catches him, she's playful and wants to fuck. Slowly and passionately at first. He doesn't know how long this goes on for but the sex eventually becomes painful as she rides him until he's numb and his sculpture breaks within the vicious power of her loins. The angle twists ninety degrees. Then she pulls him out and places the sculpture in her mouth and chews. Bites the tip off. Feels her teeth every time. Watches her chew and swallow. After he's done pretending to scream, moves onto authentic whimpering. She finishes her lusting by twisting off his scrotum and gobbling it up. Penetrates his anal cavity with her fingers and fist and forearm until she's shoulder deep. Rips his heart out through his asshole while rubbing what's left of his stub. He's paralyzed with pain. She pulls the valentine out with the spray and spurts of crimson into the darkness upon her face. Smiles and orgasms at the taste of his heart along with her quick fingers rubbing her tenderest nubby spot. She cums in a spray of urethral upon him. Kisses him on the forehead and disappears. Leaves him to regenerate so the act will happen again. Sometimes she opens his skull to eat his brain. Less often, now. Maybe she knows his thoughts by heart.

Days go by as his sculpture and valentine regenerate and his other wounds heal. It's in these moments that he feels pretty good. Welcomes the destruction of his body again. Her hands on him. In him. Wants the fear and pain. This feeling is probably why he hasn't just jumped into the void of the valley portal. He feels something he's never known. Contentment.

But he also wishes for more. If only the Terra revenant would talk to him. There's no conversation. He's not sure if she's capable of such a communication. Maybe he'll eventually figure out how to talk to her without talking to her.

He has talked to her in a way by trying to kill her. He was able to impale the revenant through the ass with a big sharp branch. Had set a trap for her. She fell into it. Alas, had no real affect on her. She ended up pulling the wooden spear out through her mouth. Then impaled him through his own ass and left him in a skewered condition for weeks. Torturing him and playing with him. He hated it. He loved it. She seemed happy. Likes her smile.

Loves her playful brutality. Her sadism. She seems to enjoy his masochism. Wants her to be his greatest fear. They are somehow complete.

His name is Nigel Leonard. He was David's Michael Leonard. The bone saw man. Now? No. He's just the aftermath of Judith's wrath. But that's something, even if it's nothing. Even in this place.

So he watches the empty darkness. Waits to find the will power to leave the raven's mind to wherever the warp of the valley void will take him. He's certain that his stalker will follow. She has a yearning for him, a taste, a wretched love. She's a crocodile and he's a pirate. Her burning emerald eyes are a clock and he wants to be eaten when he hears them.

Nigel Leonard thinks about what he would do if he ever found his way back to where he was. She would follow him. And they would probably kill David. Torture every molecule of him first. Certainly turn him into ashes. Then maybe they would find Judith. Two against one or a threesome before such pleasures. But maybe he's content where he is. Maybe...

Snapping sound behind him. Turns his sickly thin face right. Green eyes open in the darkness before him. A hand lays upon his chest. He hears a "shhhhhhhh." Can smell the emetic cavity of her body oder and breath. Holds her and smiles and laughs and whimpers and knows he's home.