The grey shadows of this sylvan setting sang an elegy.
As the wind ruffled through the trees with overpowering force, the once echoed despair was no more.
In the midst of this cacophony, a man lay on a crimson bed.
Devoured by rue he was now in a state of torpidity.
His soulless eyes facing the skies begged for pardon.
Fate however, had chosen otherwise. That night it chose to sing his requiem.