I try to cry out but my throat is paralysed.
I want to pray but instead of thoughts the lightnings of madness shoot through my brain.
I feel only one thing that threatens to dissolve all my body into a stream of flame and that penetrates my whole being with immeasurable might: "I must live … live…!"
There, in my sorest need, I think of the faery who upon my desire brought me by magic to my grave.
"Thea, I beseech you. I have sinned against the world and myself. It was cowardly and slothful to doubt of life so long as a spark of life and power glowed in my veins. Let me arise, I beseech you, from the torments of hell—let me arise!"
And behold: the boards of the coffin fall from me like a wornout garment. The earth rolls down on both sides of me and unites beneath me in order to raise my body.
I open my eyes and perceive myself to be lying in dark grass. Through the bent limbs of trees the grave stars look down upon me. The black crosses stand in the evening glow, and past the railings of grave-plots my eyes blink out into the blossoming world.
The crickets chirp about me in the grass, and the nightingale begins to sing anew.
Half dazed I pull myself together.
Waves of fragrance and melting shadows extend into the distance.