Horror loves a lone survivor. That iconic final girl, battling the killer all by herself. But when I sat down to write Agony, that trope felt completely wrong. When your darkness is inside you—when you feel like the monster and the victim all at once—the idea of fighting alone isn’t heroic. It’s a lie that depression tells you.
So, I threw out the rulebook. The bravest characters in my book aren’t the ones who fight the hardest; they’re the ones who show up.
The Lie of Isolation
Claire’s story starts with that classic, crushing isolation. Her depression has convinced her she’s a burden, so she slinks off to this ghost town alone, chasing a rumor of a cure. It’s a desperate, solitary move. But the story really starts when her friends—Amo, Rachel, and Chiyo—find out she’s gone. And they don’t hesitate. They walk right into the nightmare after her.
That, to me, is true courage.
Anchors in the Storm
Their friendship is the backbone of this entire story. In a town that warps reality and preys on your deepest insecurities, their bond is the one thing that holds true. They bicker, they get scared, they make stupid decisions—they’re human. But they don’t leave. They can’t fight Claire’s battles for her; no one can fight your mental illness for you. But what they can do is be there. They are her anchors. They are the voices that argue back when the town (and her own mind) tells her she’s worthless.
A Lesson from Real Life
I wrote this because it’s a lesson I’ve had to learn in my own life. People will often tell you to “be strong” or “fight harder,” but what you really need isn’t a pep talk. It’s someone to sit with you in the dark and just… be. It’s the friend who brings you food when you can’t cook, or who sends you a dumb meme just to make you smile. It’s the person who isn’t afraid of your pain.
The Real Monster and the Real Weapon
In Agony, the most terrifying monster isn’t a creature; it’s the despair that tells Claire she is unlovable. Her friends are the living, breathing proof that this is a lie. By choosing to enter a literal hell for her, they scream without words: Your pain does not scare me. I see you, and I am staying. That’s the message I want to leave with anyone who reads this. Asking for help isn’t weakness. Letting people in isn’t being a burden. It’s the single most important part of the fight. We are not meant to be lone survivors. We are meant to be a team, holding onto each other as we walk through the dark.