At the end, we only have ourselves to blame. We focused on pride and what reality should be. No one could see it until it was too late. In the end, the darkness didn't have to do much. We were more than capable of destroying the world ourselves. Now evil roams the earth, killing what's left of us. I don't know why it bothers. We are fallen. After the world fell survivors banded together in an attempt to thrive amongst the chaos that evil had unleashed. The only way to make it, to have any chance at all, was to hide from the monsters. And to do anything we could to bring them down before they turned us to join their cause. I have been taught how to fight, the weaknesses of each faction of supernaturals, and the cardinal rule my community lives by. It is us, or them. Zombies have swarmed me, witches have cursed the land we grow our crops on, werwolves have picked us off, and vampires, they are the worst of them all. Until him. Survival tells me not to question what has been drilled into my head since the fall, but his actions show me that maybe, just maybe… We were wrong. Do I keep moving forward and focus on surviving in this post-apocalyptic world? Or do I dare to rise up for his sake, and ask the question that is sure to be my death sentence? Maybe they aren’t the monsters after all. Maybe, just maybe, all is not lost and love can still take root in darkened hearts.