The square of Mictlan was alive in a way that defied reason. Ghostly fireworks painted the obsidian sky in shimmering blues and golds, illuminating a sea of cheering souls.
Confetti rained down like snow, each flake glowing faintly with an eerie light.
Magical banners unfurled themselves mid-air, bearing my face and the words "Honorary Dead-Living Hero."
"Wait. Honorary what?" I muttered to no one in particular, brushing off a confetti strand that had somehow found its way inside my mouth.
Before I could gather my wits, a sash was draped over my shoulders, bearing the title in bold, glowing letters. It sparkled as if mocking my confusion.
If I'd ever imagined a triumphant moment for myself, it definitely didn't involve my likeness plastered everywhere like I was running for Underworld President.
Suddenly, a swarm of reporters materialized, glowing quills at the ready. Their barrage of questions came at me like ghostly bullets.
