Cursed waters

"The melody of chaos,

Etched onto the stars,

Hidden behind the clouds,

Of the ever-raging storm,

Ever in sync with the crashing waves,

Of a restless ocean.

While at the center of it all,

Lingers the remains someone awaiting,

A fate never to come,

Yet hope still persists,

As the old wooden chair still prevails,

While supporting the cadaver of somebody long gone,

For maybe the soul of that very mortal,

Is cursed to wait and never rest until peace comes once more.

And in that stormy horizon where the sky meets the sea,

The only sound louder then the chaos all around,

Is the eerie sound of silence,

Whom no one ever utters of it's existence,

Unknown to all except those who've experienced it."

And dark, menacing clouds rolled into view of the small cemetery, wind picking up as the branches of the willow danced to its sinister rhythm. Thunder rumbled in the distance, announcing the arrival of the storm as rain began to pour. The blur of black umbrellas surrounded Mikko, shielding the crowd from the downpour, yet none seemed ready to leave.

The figure next to her spoke in a low tone, careful not to disturb the scene.

"It's time to go, Mikko."

"I know... but... could we wait here a few more minutes?" The reply came as a whisper, heavy with emotion.

"Whenever you're ready." The figure stepped back slightly, allowing her space but remaining close.

As the storm clouds gathered above, thunder boomed, and the wind whistled through the gravestones. The crowd began to disperse, umbrellas shifting apart, until Mikko and the figure were the last two standing in the downpour. The rain fell harder, the wood creaking alongside the chaotic melody, the smell of grass and damp earth filling the air.

"It's time to let go, valiant one," the figure said softly.

"Is it really over?" A crack in her voice betrayed her.

"I'm afraid so... but do not worry; they'll be okay."

Mikko turned to face the figure fully, a warm gaze visible behind a mask depicting a crying face, reminiscent of angel statues. The rest of the figure remained shrouded in a black cloak, an aura of mystery surrounding them.

"When it's time, it's time," the figure said, echoing a quote her mother once told her long ago.

Amidst the rain and thunder, Mikko followed the masked figure as they walked side by side. Only the sound of rain hitting the earth remained, mingling with the thunder and wind. She took one last glance back at the gravestone and freshly dug earth, its inscription reading: "In memory of Mikko Whitlock, beloved daughter and sister."

"In the end,

Even the stars choose oblivion,

Over life,

As death is the choice of some,

The solace of many,

But most of all,

The resolution of everything,

And a much needed rest."