The Nameless Girl stood amidst a field of gravestone heads.
She did not call it a graveyard—for some reason, she knew there were no bodies buried beneath like a memeory fought to be preserved the tombstones were only there for the memory of what once was. The arrangement was peculiar, lacking the order of a proper cemetery.
And so, she unconsciously called it a field.
The stones filled the horizon, rising and falling beyond where her eyes could see.
They were scattered haphazardly, as though each one had been placed exactly where its owner had died during some long-forgotten event.
And though the sight should have been disturbing, there was a strange serenity to it—a beauty born of silence and stillness.
Each gravestone bore a name, carved not in stone but in the essence of stars. Yet, the stones themselves were forged from the abyss's deepest essence.
But the abyss was not merely black.
Just because it was an abyss did not mean it was only darkness.
