I kept telling myself it would be like any other night—the usual ringing, the cheers, the bitter escape as I drank away the day's sorrows. But as I stared down at the blood-stained pen, crimson spilling out, I realized just how wrong I was. I couldn’t remember anything past my fifth glass, but somehow—oh God, somehow—I was here. Trapped. Trapped in this place, surrounded by letters, notes... by blood.