In a mad world, only the mad are sane.

The fog is shifting. He can see it moving out of the way, exposing the graveyard for what it is. Headstones carrying the names of hundreds of people stretch out into the gloom.

Can they still be called people? They are, after all, dead. At what point does a corpse cease to be a person and become nothing but decaying matter? Who knows? It's a philosophical question and he has never been one for philosophy.

It doesn't nag at him, to his great surprise, as he heads towards the large tower looming over the open field. He's never been a fan of this overly dramatic, gothic aesthetic, but he can see why one would be.

Just in front of the tower are graves, arranged in four rows of four. All of them have names. Soon, he knows, most of them will be full. But not all.

He can hear a crow cawing as he steps up to the door of the tower and slowly, deliberately, opens it.