Under everyone's tombstone is a novel
Today, the greatest black magician of our century, Miss Ander Campbell, as she wished I could call her, my old friend, closed her eyes forever in her rocking chair at the age of 87.
"But it's not such a sad thing," she once told me.
I think her death was not painful. I went to see her, and it was like meeting her old friend [Death]. Her lover, the noble and elegant Mrs. Winsney, looked at the closed eyes of her dear Miss Ander and stated her death to me.
After everything was over, she placed Miss Ander in the coffin covered with roses, and then lay beside her peacefully.
They have always been like this, always in love, from meeting to death, all the time
In one of Mrs. Winsney's pale hands, she held a bright red rose tightly and placed it gently on Miss Ander's chest. Mrs. Wensney was also wearing a pure black Cotaldi.
I witnessed that she took Ender's hand, who had gone to meet [Death], and danced a waltz with her, just like all the waltzes they had danced before.
Yes, Mrs. Winsney, she never gets old
I went to Hulls Castle to sort out Miss Ender's writings during her lifetime, and found her diaries that she had written in front of me. They were stacked very high, even higher than her spells and potions for studying death.
Compared to her achievements in [Death] magic, perhaps she hopes that thousands of years from now, someone will pass by her tombstone and read the inscription on it.
"Compared with the fear of death, people may prefer to listen to a story after dinner."
Therefore, I, Agnes Goward, would like to write a biography of my dear old friend, this gentleman and crazy black magician.
I am 98 years old, and I have already walked most of my life. I don't know if I can finish writing her story in the remaining days of my life. It is probably endless. How can I finish writing a person's life?
But I had already begun to write. In the Cam Houston Cemetery, a dull bell sounded in the distance, as if it was announcing the death of Ander, or the end of an old era. Several crows landed on the benches in the cemetery.
Concept: Life is a river that keeps moving forward, gentle or rapid, straight or turning, converging or diverging.