Tenant Five

As you live, you will be quietly devoured. It is an honor.

The trees. The trees. The trees.

The rot makes the softest tinkling sound, like bells beckoning him closer. He'd thought the rot was evil when he first came here, but now it looks so tempting. It doesn't want to hurt anyone. It only wants companionship.

No one wants to rot alone.

He holds out his hand as he draws closer to the infected tree, his weathered fingers gnarled and callused. This is better than a life spent breaking his back. The followers of the Crimson Merge care about him. They're going to be the ones that take him into the better afterlife. At least somewhere accepts him as he grows older and older, nearing the end of his life.

No one wants to rot alone.

He sinks his hand into the inky blackness and sighs as it soaks into his skin. At first, it feels warm, like sinking his hand into warm honey. It quickly grows cold, so cold, it numbs his bones. He starts to scream as it climbs up his arm, reaching for his heart, consuming, claiming. The rot spreads like a cancer, happy to devour the newest offering.

After all, no one wants to rot alone. . .