Noble Leon bid me fond farewell as I stepped into Flame. Burnt to a crisp, emerged. He had departed. Crumbled shell of ash cascaded. Nary was a wisp of smoke to show that I’d once been of flesh instead of undead swamp-dweller. I ranged, held diamond-light. Grass turns to wheat in thresh, and though the sacred fire remakes us strange, the Quantum Shadow sings the voodoo-songs as sweetly as our grandmothers who learned them from spirits direct. Our lives are long and though regret departs when we are burned we hang our heads in shame when we are low. Divine can’t tell us where our spirits go.

Entered by: 0x311E…e33B and preserved on chain (see transaction)