the smuggler’s bible


The sun setting over the graveyard turns the sky a wonderful violet color which reflects off the shinier mausoleums in a very unique way.

“You see?”

“It’s death. It’s morbid.”

“Death isn’t anything,” Lilias says. “The infrastructure surrounding death, on the other hand—well, some of that is quite good, I think.”

“Fine. Conceded. But you can watch the sun glint on marble at the courthouse, so why’d you bring me out here?”

“Because, they’re going to be hungry. Price of admission,” Lilias says, standing as the first iron mausoleum gate clangs open, “and I certainly don’t intend to pay.”