A unique dying process creates a two-tone landscape for our crypt at the fall of dusk. As night embraces the damp soil underfoot, a swarm of bats bursts forth from the graveyard into the crisp sky.
Mourning the loss of an eternal love, the realisation that death is never the final word. In our darkest hour, the engraving on a moonlit gravestone bleeds in remembrance as a black rose blossoms into renewed life.
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