And the moon never beams without bringing me dreams (Arrival, OTA)

[into_moonbeams]

There was more to the act than burying the shriveled husk of what had been his brother, the sick parody of a six-year-old boy. Simon was burying his sole purpose of existing. He was throwing shovelful after shovelful of soil over the only thing that had kept him within the proximity of sanity.

And now...

And now. What was there after that? And now he would go on, living his own macabre parody of a life. Living by night and shadows and blood until he wasted away, or met Christopher's fate. Alone, for he wouldn't damn another to this unlife, least of all precious, sweet Zoe.

He beat the shovel over the mound of dirt, at first to pat down the soil, then harder, venting the emotions he had no name for, pounding down on the earth until the shovel snapped in two. He hurled the broken pieces into the darkness and yelled a wordless call into the night.

And now. He had to think. He had to decide...what was next.

He turned back towards the gazebo, only it was not there. The park was...different. It had changed. It was gentle twilight, rather than the pitch of night, broken by blares of artificial streetlamps.

What sorcery was this?