Mycelium
"There! Do you see that?"
An endless twisted thread; a mat writhing beneath the surface. Sprouting bodies receding into the rotting soil; corpses blossoming into ghostly light. Ribs crunch beneath Abigail's feet; a smile lights her face.
Her companion tarries, unwilling to venture in; Rob's mothers told him so many times to stay away from the burial pits, not to risk whatever ordinance might yet be buried among the numinous dead.
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