Necronomicon: They're Just Burning Memories & Notes From A Certain Scotsman

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We kept our eyes fixed intently on what was in front of us, our mouths tightly shut. Smoke like a pair of ash-gray wings was dissolving into the air. I saw the fire, having consumed the jacket, run instantly onto the skirt.

When the last strip of cloth was swallowed by the flames, I thought of you. If you can come to us now, then do. Slip on those clothes that the fire has borne to you, like slipping on a pair of wings. Drink it like medicine or tea, our silence, dissolving into smoke in place of words.

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