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The monster on the ice was just another manifestation of a Devil that wanted them dead. And that wanted them to suffer.
piece called Graham’s Magazine, if I recall correctly. Aylmore can’t remember the plot of the story exactly, but he remembers that it was about a strange masqued ball given by a certain Prince Prospero… and he says that he is quite certain of the sequence of the rooms, ending in that terrible ebony compartment.
it's not good to have poe here!
Maybe reading is a sort of curse is all I mean, concluded Fowler. Maybe it’s better for a man to stay inside his own mind.
It will not end. The pain will not end. The nausea will not end. The chills will not end. The terror will not end.
Why does our species always have to take our full measure of God-given misery and terror and mortality and then make it worse?
If there is a Hell—in which I no longer Believe, since this Earth and some of the People in it are Hell enough for any Universe—I would be and should be Cast Down to the Worst Bolgia of the Lowest Circle. I Don’t Care.
We are all eaters of souls.
