The Chapter of Dark Corruption

When I slipped my terminal diagnosis through the crack beneath the door, I wasn't expecting a response.

Not until I realized that the girl upstairs, the one being bullied, was quietly collecting my decay in the same way.

Two souls crushed by life, separated by a three-centimeter gap beneath the door, used diagnosis papers, blacked-out scraps of paper, and candlelight in the dead of night to create a sick, precise resonance.

She doesn't ask for help. I don't offer comfort. We simply prove to each other:

Decay can be so quiet, and loneliness can find an echo on the same frequency.

This is a madman's monologue, and a farewell letter from someone who sees clearly.

As two broken worlds begin to fall apart in sync, something colder than death is quietly growing between us.

Simply put, two bugs crawling through the dark are dragging each other into the sunlight to be scorched.