The illustrated edition above is in Portuguese. Here is the story in English.
In the darkness we all carry in our hearts, part of who we are is fragmented, mixed and remade with every second we live. Every experience, moment and memory, all of it matters. In the end, that is what we have left when the abyss is the only way out, when the voices are already screaming too loud, or when you can barely take the next step. Your whole life feels like an endless, enigmatic challenge, and every possible ending waiting for you points to eternal loneliness.
Nightmares are born from those mixed and remade fragments; monsters rise from the tired, tainted mind, and in that setting we often turn to old wounds to find an explanation for so many laments, so much pain, so many screams. In the past there were those who believed love was a dog from hell, and here we are to say that the real dog from hell, the one that hunts you, bites you and devours you, is the lament.
There is no way to escape the weeping, the complaints, the tears of a lamenter. They hunt, they crawl until there is no flesh left on the bones. The smell of rotten flesh mixed with blood and darkness always fills an empty space. Empty spaces are where the lament lives; it is where they wait and watch the victims who may hold a little of the hope that feeds their tears.
If you think you might come across a lamenter in your worst nightmares, be prepared. It is not only its smell or its touch that can consume you. It is hard to be who you want to be in the face of the screams of eternal lament. You can try, but without a clear path between the encounter and the escape, you will never make it out alive.
David Stéfano