Blake tightened his grip on the coffin as the spirit world twisted around him. Above the starless sky, a pale silver eye watches over the dead woods. Its cold light kissed the earth, revealing Blake's silhouette moving through the trees and against the twisting shadows. His black cloak fluttered like a restless ghost in the faint breeze, his boots crunching softly over brittle leaves and frost.
He held the coffin tightly in his arms, its intricate carvings on the lid twisting into forms that seemed alive in the moonlight. It was heavy, not just with its physical weight but with the burden of what it held—his wife.
