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GRAVEYARD
Graveyard
Reflexively, you curl tighter. Just another minute. Just another minute of sleep is all you need, but the sun waits for no one. Wait. The sun? After many days and nights with only moonlight to guide you, your eyes snap open and your pupils contract at the light.
It's been a while, hasn't it?
Bask in this euphoria for however long it lasts, until your memory snaps back against your mind like a rubber band. Weren't you dead? No matter how you met your end, you certainly remember dying in vivid detail. The pain that corresponds to the last moment's of your life chooses then to make itself known, trying to wriggle free from your skin almost literally. That mark on your skin wasn't there before either.
Take a moment to breathe and get your bearings, and really take everything into focus. The warm rays of sun that dance upon your skin are colorful and fragmented like a kaleidoscope, the effect of being filtered through stained glass. Of all the places to wake up, it seems you're inside a church that's no stranger to you, St. Mary's Basilica. While the odds are good you've woken up with company somewhere near by, the glint of gold from the altar will likely catch your attention regardless—embedded deep in the altar stands a golden staff, two sculpted wings draped down its sides.
While some things are the same, and some things are different, there are still more questions than answers. But the inscription engraved into the roof of the ceiling of the Church, now visible in proper lighting seems rather apt: Welcome to Krakow (again).
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Ah. Truth.
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Fine. Favorite dessert.
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[ And no, he's not talking about Starbucks. ]
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