What was it? That I felt forcing me forward, when in front of me lay a vast chasm of icy despair? 

Hands.

I landed surprisingly safely; my limbs intact after the fall. A quick discerning of the surrounding dark made my skin crawl. There was nothing but dark, encompassing me. I felt around with my hands: nothing. A step at a time, I made it to a side. The wall I traced with my fingers was cold; so very cold. 

I winced as something sharply gripped my shoulder. 

I stared at the icy, white hand. Its tenacious grip difficult to shrug off. 

"Who are you?" I asked the horrible, bone-white being.

"I am you." It replied. 

Perplexity. I stared at it in disbelief as it drew a dagger from thin air. The sparkle of the blade illuminated more of the wretched creature. Its features let loose a startled cry from my lips. 

It indeed was me. 

Pain. Pain is what I felt, as the creature — as I — dug the blade into my chest. 

"Welcome," it said, "to the darkness that is your heart."

Horrible. Horrible. Horrible.

As I gasped away, I realized with unending gloom that this chasm was my heart.

And the hands that had pushed me were my very own.

My icy, white hands.