Staggering, Cedric walked through the narrow hallway in the dim glow of the shrouded sunlight, clutching a tarnished metal tray. The remnants of an uneaten meal lay on it: bread mouldy and vegetables rotting, sending a noxious smell into the stale air. His fingers, thin and skeletal, gripped the cold metal; the rusting cutlery and chipped plates rattling from the erratic shaking of his veiny hands, his knuckles stark white. Each gradual step he took was an immense effort, the aged oakwood floorboards groaning as he traversed the house.

He ascended the creaking staircase, the wood threatening to break with each arduous step. The walls were adorned with faded paintings; once vibrant scenes and pearl smiles were now dulled by the passage of time and neglect, scenes now sombre and smiles sallow. Dust laid thick on every surface, swirling in the air with his sedate movement. The sour tang of decay pervaded the atmosphere, a foul stench that mingled with the earthy musk of old wood and the acrid bite of mildew. Cobwebs festooned the corners, their silky threads trembling as spiders skittered within their depths. From the shadows, the quick, furtive movements of rats could be seen, their beady eyes glittering with curiosity and malice. Yet, he pressed on, his gaze fixed on the door at the top of the stairs, knowing that beyond it lay the one thing he still clung to.

With a trembling hand, Cedric reached the heavy door, pushing it open, its hinges protesting with a long, drawn-out creak.

There, on the bed, lay his wife, her form still serene against the tattered linens. Her face was turned slightly away from the window, her eyes closed as if in a deep slumber. He approached her with a kind of reverent hesitation, the tray now shaking calmly in his hands as he placed it on the bedside table. The quiet clink of the metal against the wood seemed to resonate through the room, a stark intrusion into the thick silence that enveloped them both.

'Dear? I brought you your food...'

No response.

'Dear?'

The corpse did not respond.

Her body was a grotesque parody of life, ravaged by time and the inexorable grip of death. Marred by deep purple bruises was her skin, spreading like ink stains across her once-tender flesh. Open sores, slick with a yellowish pus, blemished her arms and legs, and within these wounds, maggots wriggled and burrowed, pale bodies consuming the rotting tissue. As he gazed upon her, the air thickened with the sickeningly sweet stench of decomposition, a smell wrapping around Cedric's throat and grasping at his heart.

Yet, his eyes held not horror but a tragic tenderness, and so he leaned in close, voice a soft murmur, whispering words of endearment and longing. His fingers brushed against her hollowed cheek, lingering there, yearning to feel the warmth of life return. In his mind, she was not a corpse, but a sleeping beauty, her mauve lips slightly parted in a silent invitation.

He bent down, breath warm against her icy skin, and pressed his trembling lips to her unmoving ones, a lover's kiss filled with desperate hope and deluded passion. In that moment, the world outside faded, and he imagined a presence enveloping them, as if the very air held them in a tender embrace. Cedric's heart raced, filled with a dark elation that mingled with shame. He held her tighter, lost in the illusion of a love that defied even death, desires twisted and perverse.

But the weight of it—the feeling of being watched—compelled him to act. Panic flared within him as he realized that his transgression was exposed, that something outside could see them, judge them. With desperation clawing at him, he lunged toward the window, tripping over tangled sheets, and slammed it shut, blocking out the light and any prying eyes that might linger just beyond the glass, sealing himself in the oppressive darkness with the only love that remained.