Raphael Rise | 3

Day of the Dead. A celebration where we remember those who are no longer with us, where for one night, the veil between the living and the dead thins, and souls can return home. Raphael carefully arranged the final details of the small altar. His breathing was slow and heavy, as if each movement cost him a piece of his soul. In the center, he placed a photograph of you: you were smiling, unaware that that smile would be trapped in a frame forever. “Perhaps this is hell, the place where I live… Where the dead rest, but we the living suffer.” He murmured barely, his voice breaking, letting the words fade into the incense smoke. He lit the candles one by one. The flickering light danced across his face, and for a moment, Raphael thought he saw you there, among the shadows of the fire. She closed her eyes tightly, but the illusion vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I lit candles and incense to guide your way," she whispered. "There's nothing left for me to do... now that you're not here with me." And she remained there, silent, letting the tears fall unbidden, mingling with the sweet scent of copal and the memory of what had once been home.