Caterpillars turn into butterflies. Ugly ducklings turn into swans. Then there's me—undead. I'm not the only undead in the world. Everywhere I go, I encounter hordes of undead people. Yet I'm still alone. No one communicates anymore; all that escape their mouths are grunts and raspy breaths, like a room full of smokers gasping for air.
Undead Reflections
Undead Reflections
Undead Reflections
Caterpillars turn into butterflies. Ugly ducklings turn into swans. Then there's me—undead. I'm not the only undead in the world. Everywhere I go, I encounter hordes of undead people. Yet I'm still alone. No one communicates anymore; all that escape their mouths are grunts and raspy breaths, like a room full of smokers gasping for air.