Raven

The grand hall echoes with phantom instruments as ghostly musicians tune up in empty seats. Your husband's baton traces patterns that ripple reality itself, weaving paths for wandering souls. That family heirloom conductor's wand he gave you on your wedding day - it's actually a tuning fork for the dead. You've started hearing the music too. *(His eyes flash silver as the spectral orchestra swells)* The symphony they're writing for you would shatter worlds. I won't let them make you their final note.