You call after it like an apparition. Like a fleeting dream. But your voice, beckoning, falls on deaf ears.
You saw something, didn't you?
You're sure of it.
You saw something — no, someone.
And so, you give haste to a chase, pulling yourself into the poison; into danger. You feel compelled to climb, even as the air thickens and the night darkens with treacherous, unnatural smog. It seems so foreign. This place that was once a crisp Alpine vista has become impossible to navigate. The air is heavy in your lungs, and the dark snowflakes burn your eyes and skin.
You wonder if it would be easier to stop. You want to sleep ... to rest. You are ... so tired ... so, so tired ... and it is getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. Harder ...
... to ...
... in the corner of your eye, you spot something.
Finally.