The setting sun bleeds into the sea, painting waves in copper and crimson. Asher’s fingernails dig into his palms as he watches white tombs emerge from gathering darkness – pure, untouchable, mocking his uncleanness. His chest constricts with each ragged breath.

“This night is going to be better,” he whispers, the words bitter ash on his tongue. The iron chain scrapes against bare skin as he wraps it around his torso, each loop a familiar ritual of shame. “Different tonight,” he promises the indifferent stones, even as his body betrays him with its trembling.
Fresh wounds bloom where the chains bite. Blood – his constant companion – marks another tomb stone. Dark droplets stain white limestone, and Asher recoils from his own defilement of this sacred space. Across the lake, Capernaum fades into evening haze, but the distant echo of Shema prayer still reverberates in his bones. His lips move soundlessly, muscle memory of words he’s no longer worthy to speak.
He stumbles between the tombs, a drunkard’s dance of desperation. The chain rattles against stone as he careens from one marker to another, leaving crimson trails on their pristine faces. Each impact sends shockwaves through his battered body, but pain is preferable to the madness lurking beneath his skin.

“Different tonight,” he repeats, curling into himself as darkness claims the land. His spine presses against cold stone – the only embrace he allows himself. The chain tightens with each shallow breath, metal links catching on old scars.
On the other side of the lake, normal life continues. But here, among the dead, Asher rocks back and forth, back and forth, like a child soothing itself to sleep. Here, where white tombs stand sentinel over his corruption, he belongs. Here, where his blood marks his territory among the dead, he waits for another night to claim him.