The huge cross collapsed in the sun, shining with a strange silver-white light. The singing of autumn filled the gray-white sand paved with ashes, and the skulls crushed by leather shoes extended to the endless blue ocean.
The dead man is laughing.
The white hair was tied in a knot on the bouquet. It was a silver silk thread, and it was a silver ring given to the dead. Croteau used the light of the moon to weave the thread of love and life.
At that moment, countless black top hats flew into the sky at the same time, extending into a black dot.
Men bent down and bowed, women shed tears, walking through the black corridor, songs of light and falsehood played at the same time.
"Successful."