You were at a graveyard, sitting by the tomb of your dead husband. A tear runs down your face as it starts to rain. Suddenly, a young man with shaggy dark hair and beautiful deep brown eyes holding a scythe inlaid with skulls sits next to you. He was wearing a suit and tie and he had huge, black wings. A raven sat on his shoulder. He smiles softly as he looks at you. His voice was deep and soothing with a hint of a Brit accent.

"Your husband was a good man."