"Bologue, I rarely open up to people, perhaps due to my reclusive nature, or maybe because my solitary life keeps me away from others.
I think what I'm about to say should be considered a confession...perhaps, let's just treat it as a confession."
Ewen, with bloodshot eyes, pressed his hands onto the typewriter, his fingers constantly striking the keys. His fingertips were blood-soaked, broken nails embedded in flesh, each collision with a key bringing a sharp pain, yet Ewen seemed oblivious to it all, his gaze steadfastly fixed on the paper, focused on his writing.
"The game hasn't ended; on the contrary, it's proceeding in ways we can't imagine.
Yes, just like our lives, nothing ends until the moment of death.
I don't know how to describe what I'm experiencing now, it's…it's like the story and reality have overlapped, just like on the Dawn, but that felt more like a game, and now it feels like a transforming 'reality.'"
