A withered corpse bride lingered over the grave, the crimson blood of the roses the only thing that stood out amidst the despairing fog. Her sigh was static, barely discenerible among the creaks and groans of the dying trees surrounding the graveyard. I watched helplessly as she scraped a knotted finger along the seam of the sarcophagus. Her movements were painstaking, tracing the gateway to the realm beyond, from one end to the other.

All at once, the atmosphere waxed oppressively still, my awareness hovering in that tenuous void between anticipation and dread. The spectral being sat chiseled, her finger suspended mid-air. Her head jerked upright. My fate was reflected back at me by an unfathomable gaze, shaped pitilessly through eons of sorrow. It was time.