And Now, a Word From Halfer Home

Like its creator, Halfer Home has lived many lives, few of them particularly happy. You have to understand, it eats those it loves. Its floors, its walls — hell, its very foundation — are soaked in blood. I should know; I’ve given more than enough of my blood to it. I do so to make myself a part of it for as long as I’m required, for those who need me. Truth be told, I’d sooner cut your throat than my own. I didn’t set out to be a martyr. Yet I make this sacrifice without hesitation. To do so is to spit in the faces of those who put me, and those like me, in this position. Maybe it’s for nothing. After all, hope is a smirking, cold-blooded creature, killing us an inch at a time with promises it seldom keeps. Sometimes it does keep them, though. So I bleed, and I dare to hope. All I ask is that you accept my sacrifice. Live as many lives as you can before it’s your turn to feed the Home.