:t  W  I  S  T  E  d       S  P  I  N  e

Below is a brief segment introducing you to one of the many characters that live and breathe in 'The Crow: Conception' universe. It is meant to give you a sample of the language that will bring each character to life, and stitch the dark tapestry of the environment in which they exist. Combined with the artwork of Ben Templesmith, this book will cease to be a collection of colors and words and transform into an emotional journey across the human condition.

Spirals in a mirror, reflections of a time far less cynical, dying to be entombed in breaths of heaven. I was a woman in the hands of another fold, like a dancing whisper in a heart beating with answers, reasons on top of reasons. The Man says not to be alone, try not to spend extended periods of time in dark places. The separation picks away the gray matter, replaces thought with shards of madness, broken and tragic and screaming things that can only lead to pain. The Man says paint the walls in the blood of your enemy. Always bring fear to the table, always pull the strings of human sympathy. Such a weakness for blood, guts and splintered bones and torn flesh. Mia crouches into the corner, rocking back and forth on bare heels. The lyrical banter in her head is insistent today, forceful. It has not been this loud between her ears since that day, so very very long ago. Or was it? Time within these sterile white walls cater to a whole different set of rules. Nothing like on the outside where alarm clocks and jobs and lunch breaks once kept everything organized. Here there is chaos, methodical endless chaos. Flashlights shining in through the slot of her door at all hours of the night, female voices over loudspeakers embedded in the ceiling, announcing mealtime or pill swallowing time or bath time. Of course there was a system to all of this, but for some reason it never congealed in Mia's head. It never made any sense, so it is just one event after another blurring into a never-ending day. So how long had she been in here? She has an odd feeling the events which brought her here were not nearly so long ago as here bent mind would suggest. Water drip driping on her skin from the hollow eyes of men without souls. The dark place again, the void, the none, a zero realm that sinks its teeth into the meat of your sanity and tears it away. Oh yes, The Man says never ever feel along the outer edge of this place, never try to see the face behind the mask lest the horror of memory wash away all chances of laughter. Mia screams out, rams her scabby bald head into the corner, tearing open an old wound, leaving a pulpy streak of crimson ooze on the white wall. Men in buzzing white jumpsuits come quickly, leaking through the seams of the sterilized hallways, taking hold of her frail arms. "No! no no no no no no no…" she says the words but cannot fight them today, not with the voice this strong inside and the memory of that day so alive behind her bloodshot eyeballs. The thought of valium floating through her bloodstream is a pleasant one, how it takes the sharp edges of being human and rounds them off into something no longer dangerous. words © tWISTEd sPINe