He had died about two years earlier, and, having lost his way to the light, he slept for nine months, then had woken up in Everlost. His name is unimportant-so unimportant that he himself had forgotten it-and less important still, because in a brief time he will be gone forever. On a day much like any other in Everlost, one boy was about to find out if those rumors were true. They are the life’s blood of the bloodless world that lies between life and death. In a world where memories bleach clean from the fabric of time, rumors become more important than that which is actually known. And there were whispers of a terrible ogre made entirely of chocolate, who lured unsuspecting souls with that rich promising smell, only to cast them down a bottomless pit from which there was no return. There was the rumor of a beautiful sky witch, who soared across the heavens in a great silver balloon. Of terrible things, of wonderful things, of events too immense to keep to oneself, and so they were quietly shared from soul to soul, one Afterlight to another, until every Afterlight in Everlost had heard them.
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