This is the prelude. It is supposed to be pathetically short. Get over it.
Disclaimer[INSERT CLEVER AND WITTY DISCLAIMER HERE
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On a road similar to us - beaten and forgotten - there stands a shrine: a statue in the rough shape of a man.
Four red flowers rest on the grave, offerings from the village children to make sure that they rest in peace.
Them, not us.
We never pretended that they were for us.
There were always four: one for the leader, one for the fire-breather, one for the half-man, and one for the doctor trapped inside a monster...
Or was it the other way around?
It doesn't matter, all that matters is that he got a flower, got eternal peace, while we were left to haunt and watch ourselves be forgotten.
And forget about ourselves, swirling into a fire-filled darkness where daemons awaited us with burning sticks...
Until, on the cusp of a winter's morning, we found three white flowers, and small footprints in the snow.
Then we remembered, and wanted to share...