Scarlin

After this boy awakened me, he collapsed before my grave, leaving me unsure of what to do. For the time being, I took over his body. “This body… it’s young.” Though I have long forgotten how many years I lived in my previous life or even how it ended, it is clear that this boy was not older than I once was.

I made his body sit up against the... tombstone. The graveyard was empty; there was no one here but this boy, his clothes torn, his frame gaunt from hunger. His body was frail, almost lifeless.

“Another resident, perhaps…” By morning, someone would surely come to claim the corpse. I pinched the face I now wore. The skin was still smooth and delicate, yet already beginning to stiffen; its resilience was nothing like that of the living.

Just as I was about to withdraw from the boy’s body; “How strange?” It seemed he had died under a curse. Because of this, I could not leave him. This vessel was not merely weak; possessing a corpse was never a wise idea.

I do not know my birthplace, nor my true name. Neither did this child know why he collapsed before my grave. But since this chance has come, I shall guide him in search of his home. On the tombstone was etched the name Scarlin. Perhaps that was once my name. I shall borrow it now. The stone was meager, almost pitiful. I wonder what became of me when I died.

I wish to know why I perished… and perhaps, in the process, help this boy find his way home. For the first time, I longed to leave the graveyard.

And so, I walked toward the church where I usually lingered…