Plunging endlessly into an abyss deeper than Hades. Crackling whips seem to give way as a sudden eerieness discharges into a colossal of shooting stars. Erupting into spontaneous bone-chilling combustions. Frantically turning over in their graves as they try to claw their way out. Sprouting wings they fly high, high into the sky.


The suns light tempts and forbodes. Glistening off sparkling stones; the four winds seemed to shove each heavily fallen tear into every crevice. Long, forgotten castatways they hoped not to drift into damnation. When the world was coming to an end.