• Oh yes! Her and I were wed under the same full moon that graced our first encounter. The ring fit ever so perfectly on her bony finger. Even the audience, the gravestone guests, were perfectly behaved as I embraced my lifeless lover. It was perfect. I had my bride, my dearest friends, and my future, all come together in the black cemetery that I knew so well.
    But even more incredible than the ceremony, was the first kiss. Her cold, blue lips, tasted of death, embalming fluid, and bliss.
    Time passed along, in it's usually slumpy manner, and her beauty remained amaranthian. The sex was satisfying, and the romance was ever-passionate. We were crushed when she could bear no child, but our love never waned. But her barren womb was but the first of our troubles.
    Time had come to reclaim my precious jewel, my obsidian rose. From the inside she begun to rot, and the scent was ghastly. The feeling when I caressed her was sloshy and gruesome. But still, I refused to forfeit paradise. Until that is,... I had an epiphany. It was a dream. As her and I lie together in the bed, I slipped into deep slumber. And it was there that I saw her,... alive. She still had loved me, but she had also broken my heart. It was time to let her go.
    Under the tree that blessed our wedding, I had replayed what I knew so well; grave digging. With a black headstone in place, I embraced her once more. I heard her whisper "Come with me..." And on the brink of tears, I kissed her once more. I felt a breath escape her, and enter into me.
    I cried so heavily as I showered my love with a dirt borne tomb. All I could leave behind was my wedding ring, the symbol of what we shared. For days I wept, lamenting the light of my moon, my withered rose. It was a week after, that I had fallen terribly ill. Constantly, I had heard her voice in my head. Ringing louder and louder with each day. And at the peak of my illness, it had become a clear entity. She repeated time and again "Come home, my love..."
    Now, here I am, wasting away the final seconds that tick away at my mortal clock.
    The world may have forgotten us, but together in the void we shall be eternal. And my mark on the world? Two gravestones that read "Here lies the forlorn gravdigger..." "and his pretty little corpse."