It begins, each day, with a boy.
On Thursday the boy’s name was Pilgrim. It was either his first name or his last, embroidered into the back of his baseball cap; fitted blue with a curly D on the front, curls of blonde falling out the sides. The boy’s arms swung gaily at his sides, and he kicked rocks. He whistled a tune. He spat. His curious eyes scanned the alley walls, and he trotted along. It was in this fashion that Thursday’s boy reached the wall at the end of Demon’s Heart Alley—and stared down into the hole.