As she reached the coffin, Astoria reared up, her hooves striking the lid with a force that echoed through the still air. The sound was startling, like thunder ripping through a calm sky. The lid gave way with a sickening crack, and the crowd gasped collectively, horror and disbelief etched on their faces.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. I couldn’t move or breathe as I stared at the broken coffin. It was as if Astoria had ripped open not just the wood but the very fabric of reality, exposing something we were never meant to see.

Inside the coffin, my husband lay still, as expected. But then I noticed something strange. His hands, folded across his chest, were clutching something that looked suspiciously like a letter. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Why would he be buried with a letter? And why had no one mentioned it before?