Twilitfalchion knew in his heart that he had seen to many horrors and told so many lies that he couldn’t discern reality from nightmare anymore, even if that was what he wanted the most.
Why do I feel so dead inside? Is it my recent literary diet of Thomas Ligotti and Moby DicK? My interest in Tempus Thales, an immortal, evil, repugnant villain from Thieves' World similar to Kane? Am I crazy?