Your light, my hope. I walk through the forest of darkness. In my
mourning veil of black lace. Dead leaves crunch under my small black
slippered feet. Cold wind whispers in my ears, caressing my cheeks,
numbing my heart. The smell of dead earth permeates my senses. Yet it
awakens me to the life surrounding the dark forest. The moon is my
lantern. I follow the carpet of ghostly light towards the cementary.
There he awaits in the shadows. In his tuxedo of black, spilled with red
velvet. His dark hair shines, his skin the color of the undead, ghastly
pale. His hazel eyes pierce my soul. I follow the moon's light to you. I
reach my cold hand out to touch his face, but his image spills like
shimmering morning dew at my feet. He's an illusion, He's gone.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Midsummer, in the year 311 MA.