You do not feel like fighting anymore. What is the point anyway ? Nothing is worth that we can fight for. You too would gladly take your chains and haunt aimlessly the realm of the dead.

But that is hell !
This place with no reality where the haunting calls of your conscience have no object to rebound on. A slow but irresistible slide towards total deletion of reality, madness and nothingness sinking you into a solitude at the bottom of which your mind bustles without finding the boundaries.

This is not the first time that you think about suicide. But it has never been that bad. After all, no moral duty or responsibility holds you back. By god ! You never asked to be born !

The Nun of Hell is no longer here to guide your choice or to preach. Having reached that far since you entered these walls, you probably looked autonomous enough to her to navigate according to your own will. No need to await a saving hand down here. You no longer wish to be rescued anyway.

You have lost all sense of direction. And you stand in a small boudoir with red hangings. At the back is a small pedestal table. And behind the table stands a skeleton with a top hat. He puts a casket on the little table, opens it and spins it in your direction.