The red… it’s beautiful.

How it burns in the fires, gleams in the blood. The shadows gleam and writhe with newly departed souls. Everything is perfect.

I trace my fingers along their face, pale and wet. I wonder how this one left—not that it matters anymore.

I walk silently through this raging peace, cries and screams dulling gradually; they will all find solace in my arms.

I find a poor child, down at the bottom of a well. I sit there with her a moment, brushing the reddened hair from her face, glad it won’t stick to me. I cup her cheek, feeling the slightest warmth.

I sigh, smiling. “It’s not your time.” I feel the space where my chest should be get heavy. “I’m sorry.”