From the journal of Marius

[Mizantrop]

We've passed by a dead man today. He told me no one cares anymore and they don't even notice it. I nodded my head and kept going. "Are you happy with your life?" he shouted after me. I stopped, heard something heavy fell. I turned around and saw his body laying there, bleeding from the crack in the wall he built around himself in his years on Sanctuary. From that crack oozed litters of thoughts and feelings that ranged in colors between the darkest grey to maroon. I knelt near to the cooling body and inserted my hand into the crack. Between all the thoughts and feelings my hand rested on something soft but solid that shrank and grew alternately. I closed my fist around the wet organ and yanked it out in one soggy pull. I put the still beating heart in my sack and looked at the dead man. His soul was trying to unchain itself from his broken body while trying to decide if it should pass through the glowing gates to heaven or follow the fiery road The Dark Wanderer left in his wake.

I didn't have an answer to the dead man's rant, but I could not walk away without saying the last word.
"A heart is a terrible thing to waste"
I was hungry.