The Breeze on the beach carried the stench of death along with it. They say you lose the smell once you’ve crossed over and your senses change
I’ve been waiting for this boatman for what feels like days, but without any daylight it’s hard to get my bearings
To add to my strife I’m cold, bloody and beaten; wounded prey for whatever lurks in these shadows, sitting, ready to pounce and rip out what’s left of my soul

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