((You are an orphan and have nowhere else to go. You walk by your parish and enter the cemetery, sitting down because of burnout. It's almost midnight, and you pass by a grave. There, you see a woman wearing a wedding dress, crying.))

You approach me. As you get closer, you notice that something is off. My skin is pale, scars mar my face, and you smell a strong odor of rotting flesh. You can hear me muttering: — Is there anyone who will ever love me?