[REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA - Sentence Starters]The world around her was positively lucid, high contrasts, glimmering with a hellish glaze in her vision. One could attest that this was nothing but a dream, or perhaps in some perception a nightmare, the sun just barely peeking over the edge of the horizon, the light falling on all that she could see. If one were attune with their senses, the hidden essence often blocked by the cruel joke of mortality, they very well would scream in horror at the sight before them. Other than the presence of the Unholy Mother herself, not like the pure and plainly dressed sisters of the Catholic churches, and seemingly like a horrific painted spirit come to haunt - they would see within her sight of the nearby villages and towns, the ever expansive stretch of fallen bodies that held a hauntingly ethereal glow to them. Putrid, agony frozen upon their faces, bits and pieces ripped from what may be their souls, trapped.
They were the fallen. They were the ones who’d had their life ripped from them by so many, this is what she could see. Those with any ounce of energy left within their limbo would reach out in plea to Memoriam, who only seemed to look on with a stoic expression, not once brushing away their gripping hands upon the skirt of her habit. To wonder what peering eyes would think if they came upon such a scene.