When I was younger, I read a story about a demon who lusts for a young, beautiful girl. One night, the demon steals away the girl, trapping her in a realm not for the living but not for the dead, holding her prisoner. The girl could walk through her world, see her home, her friends, her family, but she was invisible to them. Her loved ones searched and searched for her to no avail. They believed her to be dead yet she was standing right in front of them. She was forced to watch them grieve in silence. Having only to extend her hand to wipe their tears, but she was unable. I don’t remember how the story ended. I don’t remember if the girl ever made it out of the demon’s clutches, if she was ever released from her torturous purgatory, or if she was reunited with her loved ones. I don’t know if I even finished the story. I couldn’t bear the thought of it, being so close to it all yet so far away; being so disconnected. It terrified me and for many years, I feared I would succumb to the same garish destiny. Why I assumed such a monstrous thing would happen to me, I don’t know. As I grew older, wiser, I found that logic and reasoning diminished those nightmares. I hadn’t thought of that girl for many years, until her fate became mine.