Corwin and Meadow ventured into an ancient graveyard, and as they surveyed the scene, they were met with a haunting spectacle. The once-proud tombstones, which had stood tall and majestic, now lay shattered, some reduced to mere fragments strewn carelessly across the ground, while others leaned precariously or had crumbled into disrepair. The ornate monuments, bearing the names and life stories of the departed, had lost their former grace, the intricate carvings eroded by the relentless forces of wind and rain.
Nature had, over time, reclaimed its dominion. Ivy had stealthily crept over the graves, weaving a twisted and eerie tapestry that obscured inscriptions and blurred the boundaries between the final resting places. Weeds and wildflowers flourished with abandon, their roots thrusting through the earth and displacing aging, cracked tombstones.
