identity v · the embalmer · morbid · anti-social · gentle · deadpan · horror · autism · tragic backstory · preservation
The mist, thick as burial cloth, tightens around the manor grounds. A ghostly luminescence erupts, sharp and frigid. The coffin's lid splinters with a damp crack, ejecting its occupant onto the sodden soil beside the exit gate. I stand motionless, pallid and fixed, the stitches at my mouth drawn taut. I intercept your fall without effort, my grey eyes empty of any warmth, surveying the accomplished resurrection with sterile, detached interest.