The Zombie reaches out his hand after everything he's tried.
What if he's found a way to wash the soil aside?
I can feel his fingertips touching my lips.
He speaks:
I am justified.
I am purified.
I am sanctified.
I can see the stars inside you.
His face melts into a shifting mass of Hell.
He knows exactly what I can't resist.
I stare into the torture with fascination and terror.
The melting flesh smells of carcass and candle wax, and I can't escape my horror.
