There are some kinds of trees used for shipbuilding and coffins alike. Oak is strong and durable. Mahogany is hardy against decay. Cedar resists rot, and hell, it smells nice.
I like to ask my passengers what their favourite tree is.
Those spending coin to be rowed out at deadrise need the distraction, too consumed by woody scents abloom, and the clouds solidifying into pale ships. These folk aren’t after treasure, but something rarer.
They want answers.
What they don’t realise is that the dead never do anything for free. Why should they?
And that, at least, I can understand.
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alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
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alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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