Mike relaxed his body and submitted to the abyss. The darkness engulfed him, filling his mouth, his throat, his lungs. From his gut, Mike feels a warmth rise up and out of him, as a brightly glowing star is pulled out through his mouth by one of the dark vaporous tendrils emanating from the femme fatale’s gown.
With grim smiles, the figures disappear, replaced by a spirit hovering over Mike and the iron oak. Like the gaunt figures before it, the spirit of entropy is clothed in an oily black cloak, this one stitched together from the ruminations on death and decay. As if the wings of a dark angel, the cloak opened as the spirit of entropy descended upon Mike, enveloping him in an eternal, fatal embrace.