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Savannah was a city built on top of its dead. Diners, gas stations, even schools squatted on blacktop and concrete that buried days gone by.
The only people who were truly dead were those who had been forgotten.
She didn’t want to dash her hopes outright. Having a dream was no small matter for a girl child.
There is no greater terror than hearing the scream of someone you love.
“They call me Death. I prefer the name Reaper, if you will. I am the keeper of the candles,” the creature said, gliding over to the candles like a farmer tending his flock. “One for each life in the world. The candles are burning, ever burning.”