Jenny sat alone in an old wooden house creaking from age. She sat at a small wooden desk with a flickering lightbulb hanging from a string. On the desk was an old, faded book with yellowing pages. On the book were blood stained runes and oil spills. Jenny flipped through the pages, reading the tales the book could tell. Reading the secrets of the Shadowmen. Shadowmen were not people. Shadowmen were phenomenons. Like ghosts. Rare occurrences. Pareidolia. Hallucinations. Harmless. On the floor by the desk were piles and piles of books. New and old. Small and big. All on Norse Mythology. Celtic Mythology. Phenomenons. Ghosts. Illusions. Psychology. Shadowmen. Shadow people. The Hat Man. Jenny stopped in her book. She closed the book.

She set the book aside. With the others. She pulled a blank piece of binder paper from beneath a book. The sound of it filled her ears, reminding her of when a shadow man got ripped away from her. Like an illusion. She was doing all she could to find out something about him. About his race. There was nothing. It's been three years since the three games Julian put her through. Jenny had isolated the people she had known.

She had faked death.

She did it all to bring him back. To apologize. To let him continue his life. Instead. Jenny sat alone in an old wooden house creaking from age. The books were repeating themselves. Each one as useless as the last.

Jenny's hair had grown to fall below her knees. She hadn't bothered with it for three years.

Her skin had gone as pale as snow. She hadn't gone outside for three years.

The world was hollow. It repeated itself. The sun would come up. The sun would come down. The moon would come out, more each night, then it would come down. The sun would come up. Never changing. The world was hollow. Jenny sat alone in an old wooden house creaking from age. Reading. Every day.

Broken windows. Termite eaten wood. Jenny sat alone in an old wooden house creaking from age. She lifted a pen. She pressed it to the paper. She wrote. In runic.

Thurisaz. For the conflict in her life.

Raidho. For the journey she once had.

Mannaz. For the man she wished to find.

Wunjo. For the success she wished to find.

Uruz. For what Julian had used to pierce the worlds.

She put down the pen. Jenny picked up a knife. She opened her palm. Like she had. Everyday for the past three years. She cut her palm. Everyday for the past three years. Nothing worked. Nothing happened. But why should it?

Insanity: doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results

-Einstein

A book she'd read told her that. She was insane. She accepted it. Life repeated itself. Insanity happens. It will happen again and again. Because insanity was insanity. And Jenny was insane. She accepted it.

Blood dropped on the paper. It splattered. The world was hollow.

Jenny sat in an old wooden house creaking from age. She wasn't alone.

A/N: Just a very short chapter. Tell me if you like it or if you want me to update through reviews. I just thought I'd try a unique style. Till next time.