Kristof had gathered everything he needed under the dull light of a cursed flame.
In his hand a wicker cage filled with four silent crows. Their cries muted by rolls of grey tape about their beaks. He fixed the basket on a hook above the oil burner and regarded from a few paces back as they jumped and shook their coffin in their panic. The flames grew and their feathers began to catch.
His gaze swept to his love’s. She watched on silent from her bed, her still eyes shining in the firelight. The mortuary tag as yet unremoved from her toe. For all he had given in exchange, she moved not.