“Whilst visiting her grave on autumn’s most grave of nights, methought I felt a Spirit beside me. Aye, the Ghost of My Beloved who still lives on in mine own guilty conscience; she proceeded from the lifeless stone to me. “Mine bed of black earth is so very warm,” whispered she, “much warmer than the coffin you call a home, bereaved now of my love.” I shuddered as her spectral fingers attempted to interlock with my own, but merely phased through. “Why, then, do you not join me?”
Wast this truly My Beloved, pleading to me from beyond the Grave? A trick of Satan’s making? Or mine own tormented conscience, pardoning wistful thoughts of Eternal Rest? Though death did us part, perhaps, perhaps it also could serve to reunite… “