You who were scared

I'm getting tired of being scared

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

Written in black ink and looks like a feather. But it boggled the person reading this where'd anyone could obtain ink in here? Many feet underground and maybe even deeper than anyone could imagine. Who would even write something so philosophical in an ugly place as this? Where the only thing that ignites the dark paths are torches and the odd voices further astray. It's hard to identify specifically where the voices come from. Though, the young man read this page seemingly torn out of a book a concerning amount of times.

Without understanding why the gentleman felt uneasy. The word 'fear' sent chills running down his spine. There was something about that one phrase which made the snow-haired man feel uneasy. He felt paranoid. Should I turn around? Is someone watching me? Am I going insane? Those questions raced in his mind without an answer. They felt terrified. His body couldn't move properly. He wasn't sure what to do. Is this piece of paper cursed? The individual didn't know.

He didn't know what was there, if anything was there in the first place. Were the sizzling sound of torches overlaying the sound of footsteps? Footsteps that have come to hunt him down. The gentleman didn't know. Nor did the snow-haired boy know if it was just his imagination or if this was reality he was faced with. There wasn't any answer for him in order to shrug this off.
"Dante….."

"Are you afraid, Dante?"

"Ah!"
Dante felt himself jump up. Without another thought looked around himself again, however, with another look in the secluded, webbed environment  he realised something. This wasn't the same room he was in earlier just now with that note. The note…it was gone. Beneath his feet was a mattress and a pillow. Was it all a dream? It felt too real to be one.

That voice, what was it trying to say? 

Dante looked once more at his surroundings. The ragged bed. There was a scratched, black outfit reminiscent of a rogue. The boy used it to blend into the shadows and hide from everything that this place had. On the floor lingered a red liquid still fresh. It was blood, of course. It came from the male's left knee, because of running away from a mere thud, his trip causing a louder sound honestly. That wasn't the first time, the male had also severely cut his hand once by trying to run away from a few ghouls. Why running? Because it was true. Dante was afraid, afraid of death and afraid of anything trying to hurt him.

But maybe whatever just happened whether it was real or not that note. Made Dante realise that he is a coward. And that being a coward is the real thing that's getting him killed…