I’m sorry to interrupt you Elizabeth, if you even remember that name. But I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit. A maze with no prize. You don’t even realize you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near. Yet somehow out of reach. But you will never find them. None of you will. This is where the story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing, not intended for you. Although there was a way out planned for you, but I have a feeling that’s not what you want. I have a feeling you are right where you want to be. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything can finally begin to fade away, as the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don’t belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace or perhaps war, waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although for one of you, the darkest pit of hell is waiting to swallow you whole. So don’t keep the devil waiting, friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It’s in your nature to protect the innocent. I’m sure that on that day, the day you were shut out, and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arm, the way you lifted them into yours. And then, what became of you? I should’ve known you wouldn’t be content to disappear. Not my daughter. I couldn’t save you then, so let me save you now. It’s time to rest, for you, and for those you’ve carried into your arms, this ends. For all of us. End of communication.