the best souls

So many names so many claims about The horseman. the veil, the pale who waits for

the widow gone pale for grief, she begs lies and cries for the ale, stolen from her was the thief of her heart and with him her hope, now she can only cope. few grasp the scope and now the reaper offers a rope, a portal out of the mortal world. The widow in her most sober moments did she ask that none mourn her passing because the last thing she ever asked was the freedom to end her own. That people remember the courage shown in her final days. As she lay and wait for her husband she feels relief flood over her core as she became a corpse.

And death took her gently mourning the grief caused by his place in the great order but rejoiced in her soul's calm patience. This woman did not fear but respected him. So few were the soul that did not scream. That did not fight but greeted him as if a tardy guest in a ball.

Cessabit had cared deeply for her husband and did not mind his passing into the unknown or her own. she talked and sympathized with the pale man. her own life had been difficult for just eighty-one years and doubted that she could handle eternity, fascinated death asked if she wanted to stay and she said that this world need only to remember her. In her, he saw the strongest of warriors and the most scholarly of poets. And he trembled with humble pride towards this old woman who understood what few did.

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