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Momento Mori

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The cloaked figure blended seamlessly into the dark. He walked slowly, the grass bending beneath his feet and the mist curling away as he advanced. No creatures could be heard, or rather, there were no creatures to be found. What thin light the moon had to give was covered by the clouds as quickly as the mist was chased away.
Chaos. The dark figure drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He could hear the chaos, it screamed to him. He could feel it in the air like ripples moving across a placid lake. Following the vibrations and echoes, the figure moved steadily onward with the sole intention of silencing it.
At last he came upon a man and a woman who had wandered into his domain. He stood still, and looked first to the woman for the source of the chaos. He saw that she was enveloped by a grief that hung about her like the sticky strings of a spider’s web. He went to her, and grasping a thin thread, he pulled. The more she struggled and tried to escape, the tighter and stickier her confines became, until she could no longer breathe. Then, like a butterfly, she fell limp and broken at his feet.
Turning now to the man, he saw that the other chaos was obsession; which wrapped around him like a rose with thorn-covered vines, and roots that dug their way into his heart and mind. The dark figure went to pluck the wilting rose, but the man used his thorny obsession to fight back. Yet the more he fueled the dry thorns, the more the flower drained his life away and the tighter the vines bound his movements, until it had consumed all but the husk. This, the figure cut down himself, so there was nothing left but torn petals.
Sighing as he felt the peace return, the reaper gathered the souls of the couple and walked slowly back through the graveyard. As he passed by, each lonely grave was reminded that no heart of the living would ever be permitted to trouble the souls of the dead.

Forever and ever, Amen.



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