Retributionist

The Watcher

In the heart of the desolate graveyard, where the shadows danced a macabre waltz with the moonlight, the dead lay in eternal slumber. Time stood still within those eerie grounds, each tombstone a silent sentinel marking the passage of forgotten lives. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, clinging to the very fabric of existence like a shroud. Among the silent rows of graves, a solitary figure moved with ghostly grace. The figure, cloaked in darkness, seemed to glide between the headstones as if part of the night itself. This was the Watcher, a being older than time, tasked with guarding the souls of the departed from the terrors that lurked beyond the veil of death. As the Watcher passed each grave, a soft whisper seemed to rise from the earth itself. The voices of the dead, carried on the cold night breeze, spoke of lives long past and memories left unfulfilled. They longed for the touch of the living, for a connection to the world that had abandoned them to the cold embrace of death. But the Watcher could offer them no solace, no reprieve from their eternal rest. Bound by duty to the great beyond, the Watcher could only gaze upon the slumbering forms and offer a silent prayer for their peaceful repose. And so, amongst the desolate graveyard, the dead lay sleeping. Their memories lingered like shadows in the dark, their spirits woven into the very fabric of the night. And as the world outside moved on, ignorant of the silent symphony of the graveyard, the Watcher stood guard, a solemn sentinel in a realm of forgotten souls.