Torn between the skeletal remains of a dearly beloved state of mind and his heart of hearts, the Gravekeeper watches the fog as it rolls in gracefully over the headstones and decaying flowers deposited by long-departed relatives, glistening enticingly in the dim light from his flickering storm lantern. He turns his head out to sea towards the source of that crawling, grey, glistening creature and sees the flash of the lighthouse in the distance, warning heedless sailors of their imminent demise. He was once able to count on one hand the number of unmarked graves under his care marking the resting place of those few found crushed and broken among the rocks below the lighthouse, but that was a long time ago. Before his hands turned from smooth tools that moved with a deliberate motion into gnarled, twisted tree roots that quivered and creaked as they moved purposefully to their goal. Before the sea began it’s inexorable crawl towards the town nearby, swallowing the land as the cliffs slowly crumbled into it’s waiting arms, flinging wave after merciless wave at the land, turning the once peaceful coastal town from a popular summer get-away into the barren, lonely, deathly place it had now become.