The world of death is pristine and white. You feel as though you besmirch it with your presence. This is not your goal. There is nothing here.

You wander for eons. You do not hunger, do not thirst, do not tie, do not grow bored. The dead feel none of these.

After time immeasurable, your eyes note change on the horizon. A difference. A new thing.

It is a plinth. A pedestal. A single bleached skull rests atop it and atop the head rests a gnarled black crown.

There is an inscription.

“Civilisations perish in the blink of an eye,

but what lives eternally cannot ever die.

The birds will die, the angels will sing,

All bow in defeat to The Black Velvet King.”

This is nothing. There is nothing here for you. Leave the world of death and begin again but remember this. Remember how many billions have walked these hallowed white halls.