Death wasn’t always eternal, though time did belong to it.

In the same way that regrets are busy business for the living, a dying soul’s last hope is a violent, revolving door, thrashing between hardened realities and the prospects of endless possibilities.

Forty-two years old Autumn Soares was the reason that the portal broke opened in this part of the world today as earth parted its rotting lips to accept yet another tribute of the past. Her already decaying body ravaged with sickness and those atomic molecules that made up Autumn’s body once, now sighed with collective relief that they could finally stop trying. No longer oscillating between alternating versions of what once was full potential and what eventually became recorded down as memories.

Her sins and secrets now buried with her.

Winter, Autumn’s little sister, whose heart ached, ached, and still aching, had not the slightest idea of what laid ahead of her, and what her dead sister left behind.