<div style="text-align: center">The shadows rest, caught against the cold stone monuments jutting from the ground. Below them, rest an army of rotting corpses. Looming over the cemetery are the daunting pillars of the old cathedral. Its bell still chiming every hour, despite it having been empty for maybe half a decade.<br/>
<br/>
The moon's indignant glare could befelt on the back of their neck. Slender fingers placed a love note upon the crumbling headstone that sat all alone on top of the first rolling hill.<br/>
<br/>
The bottom of its opposite side ended abruptly at a fence. Beyond that fence, a seventy foot drop to the jagged rocks below.<br/>
<br/>
This was the only place in Rock Harbor, where seagulls refused to fly. Big, raven colored crows rested in gulls' place. Their numbers found guarding the dead in leafless tree tops.<br/>
<br/>
The author of the love note stepped back, and let their eyes linger on the churning waves below them. A cool breeze tore through their long trench coat. A shiver never shook them, even as the cold winds of autumn gave way to harsh bits of winter. <br/>
<br/>
Turning from the scene, a sigh would leave their lips. Deep, copper eyes stopping on the body slumped against the nearest tree. The once warm blood, cooled against our killer's flesh. It thickened, and felt sticky as it mixed with old sweat. "Sorry it had to end this way." They spoke genuinely, before disappearing into the sleepy little town.<br/>
<br/>
Hours later a rooster crowed, as the sun touched the rooftops of Rock Harbor. Hours later still the people rose from their beds and began their days. Around noon, the body of 59 year old Peter Cross was found. Stabbed to death, by the looks of it. His body left only feet from the resting place of his infant son. Upon the child's tombstone a note that read:<br/>
<br/>
To be in a world with you,<br/>
And still all alone.<br/>
Is better than a world without you,<br/>
And having a full home.<br/>
You hair shall be my blanket.<br/>
Your body shall be my bed.<br/>
We'll love the lost little ones together,<br/>
Once we're wed<br/>
And rotting dead.<br/>
<br/>
The tired towns folk, of this blink of a gray community dared not to bat an eye. They threw the widower man in the ground at the bottom of the hill with his wife, and local authority sought out the individual the note was signed to. It took only a few more hours, and by four o'clock they knocked on a quaint house's boringly normal door. The rapping echoing softly down the empty cobble street. <br/>
"Tis the law, open up." A gruff voice sounded.<br/>
<br/>
(MC is madly in love with YC. May it be male or female, anything in between. Just answer the door.)​</div>