Regretting Sorrow

On the bed, a cold corpse laid. The smell of medicine penetrated the walls, a thick scent of herbs. A man walked in, dressed in black robes.

He sat next to the corpse and held the corpse's hand, then he gently touched the corpse's face, a face that looked as beautiful as ever. Yet, one could see the very small details of a body that was already beginning to rot. Even so, the man didn't seem to notice as a sneer appeared upon his face.

The man stopped, his fingers pausing as he retracted his hand. As his hand covered his face, a mocking smile came upon his lips. From within the room, a laugh of sorrow and madness echoed.

And in the dark night, a child's voice was heard singing the lyrics to a tale that had spread months ago.

"A wedding held, the corpse laid still,
Holding his hand, angered with will."

"Oh what a shame, awaiting tomorrow,
For who regrets, regretting sorrow."