Fallen Ones

As dawn rose, coughing blood blew out, and cells decomposed. I, the Octa, or the circle of eight characters who carried my own memories and seven other characters’, remained confused by life as I tasted its sorrow, and time passed by. While grieving for unfair death, I made my way into the cemetery. I carried the world’s disgrace. Feeling that the world was colder than fear itself in a sense, I hoped to show this existence: that killing each other is no better than just action like a rightful penalty, and, being a messenger, I should start over.