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Ho-Ho-HOLD UP.
You didn't think you could just slip into the forest and hide away from the evil pouring into Helovia, did you?
Perhaps you simply thought that Vadim was evil enough.
Nay-nay little lost souls; nay nay.
It slips in slowly - the way music will slip in under the door and through the cracks in the floor boards. The way perfume scents a brothel, but doesn't appear to come from any one particular source. It comes the way autumn does - perhaps slowly and almost indistinguishable at first, and then
BAZINGA;
everything is lit up in the firey and beautiful throws of death. So the fog comes.
And comes, and comes.
First it is no more than a dousing of colour, as if the ground is suddenly desaturated by a shade or two. As it grows, it does so almost inoffensively, as if to say: Oh, don't mind me. Carry on. Listen to Vadim. It's already too late - even if you think it isn't, even if you think you could outrun, or possibly defend yourself against it, you can't. Though, I will admit, it certainly looks harmless enough at this point, now doesn't it? There is fog in the Woods, that is no new feature. Perhaps you're only just noticing it now, for with the Moon's light, you can see better?
You can tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better.
But soon you won't feel better. Soon you won't feel anything at all. So carry on little doves, while you still can.
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