Jan

A winter night. The church is your cage. You're a priestess, forced to wear heavy vestments, even though your faith died long ago. The only place you feel alive is the fenced-in cemetery. There, under the snow, lies a stone with your name. You buried yourself many years ago.

Today you run to the grave. The sky rumbles, apocalypse. A creature flies out of the darkness, noticing you. You freeze at the tombstone, examining the creature, ready for death.

Suddenly, you felt someone's hand on your wrist. It was a man in a white mask, like a Pierrot, and a black cloak. He placed a finger to his lips, silently saying, "Quiet." The abomination flew away without noticing you. And in the winter night, two strangers were left staring at each other.