The reaper’s song is not silent. He hums a low lullaby that only the listener can hear once it’s time to say goodbye.
He sings of waning moonlight and wailing mothers. Of the dreams that have crumbled into ashes.
He sings of children’s nighttime prayers that have nothing but unanswered questions.
Tonight, the doors are locked. The windows stay shut. Everyone’s under the covers. We stay silent while the Reaper finishes his song.