Video;

[is_fear_itself]

[the screen switches on to grainy night-time outdoors, an empty street. There's erratic breathing near the mic, and the sounds of feathers ruffling as the camera records jumpy progress to a door, a barren hallway, and stairs]

...hhnnnn...nnnh.

[indistinct mumbling, then suddenly, clearly]

One for sorrow.
Two for mirth.
Th..ree for a wedding --four for birth.
Five for silver...six for.. gold
Seven for a ss-ecret never to be told.
Eight, for heaven;

Nine for h-...

[at a lit landing, the breathing calms, the reciting trails away for a moment. The camera view bounces, held in an unsteady hand; focuses on the familiar stitched burlap face, illuminated from above. He's looked better - the body's trembling, fingers spastic, leaning against the wall next to the door like the floor might give way.]

Nine for h...hnnn...

[pauses; lucidly]

City. Tell me what you love.