The gears grinded as the table was dragged out. Inky remains slopped out onto the floor as her feet danced away from it. He lay there, as frigidly alluring as that dreary summer she let her love rest. Nothing, not a twitch from his brittle figure, his skin looking as scarred as it did when he passed. And yet...

A deep knot tightened in her stomach; her eyes began to settle slightly in the pitch void of the basement, the atmosphere didn’t ease the feeling in the slightest. His skin… she was hesitant to touch him, for fear of being infected, those weren't burns, those looked…fresh almost. Less like the scars she had struggled to grow accustomed to; fleshier, tissue almost.