rip boi i die

You raise your camera - it's behaving like a model subject. Watching you. Sitting perfectly still. You slowly back away, and it's still being patient. Watching you. Sitting perfectly still. And then you find yourself falling, falling backwards again into a pit - and the snake is still curled around that root. Watching you. Sitting perfectly still.
...
There is no time.
You let go of your camera, trying to reach for a root, a stone, anything.
There is no time.
You hit the bottom - your back aches harder than it ever has before.
The ground is cold. The ground is moving.
The ground is a familiar shade of dark red.
You feel them, tasting the air around you, their fangs piercing your skin, their golden eyes watching you.
There is no time.
A hot, sickly feeling is surging through your arms. Your muscles are spasming. Your eyes are dilating, your hands are locked into claw-shapes, your skin is peeling, you can see one thousand colours.
The pain is intense, but not as intense as the nausea.
And you know that this is it. This is the peak, this is the bottom, this is the threshold.
And there's something
Else
Something
Strange
Something
Close
It agrees that this is the end. It has an idea. It wants to talk to you. It needs to talk to you. It has an amazing offer. It has a deperate plea.
What is it? What is this thing that seeks the living?
What is your Geist, and what did it offer you?