They watch the falling leaves, the raindrops... The blood. The red rope hangs from the rotting tree.
Red drops drip into the winter snow. Lonely and unchanging for a year. Whispers carry across the graves of the Lost Ones. footprints burying in the snow lead to a weeping child...
The GLEAM of a sharp edge
The TASTE of murderous medicine
The TOUCH of of the red rope lingers in the weeping childs mind.
NO more memories...
NO more LOVE...
Not even a goodbye from a ghost of the present...
