In the Orchard of the souls.

Long ago, in a time before anyone of us was born, The Grim Reaper strode among mortals, rightly feared and respected. But he was also loved by the people, because he relived those in pain and helped the ill in transforming into an ecto-plasmic, abstract memory of their former selves. They would roam the world, giving blessing to those in pain similar to what they'd felt as a mortal. Times were good. But then, the spirits were angry. Envious of the living, they started attacking mortals, pulling their souls out of their body, and transforming them into a spirit. There was no way the world could fight back. They turned to the reaper for help, and he gladly oblidged. With one swing of his sythe, he seperated the spirits from the world. He created another world for the spirits to live in for all eternity, but this world was warped by the spirit's minds into a bizzare nightmare, a mockery of what the Reaper had fashioned for them. It was known as... the netherworld.

And so, on one day a year, the Grim Reaper pays a visit to our world, and brings his spirits with him. If you look very clarefully at the stroke of midnight, you might see one of the spirits on a ghostly march, visiting those they once loved. But don't let them see you, or they'll reach out and grab you...

...and then you'll only see darkness.

--COMMENTARY!--

That's an okay bit of emo poetry. I really don't know what crack I was smoking when I wrote that. The bloom effects used here were the first and last time I've used them, and for good reason. I really should've stopped at the eyes.