Irena Kirk clutched the wilting bouquet, the scent of lilies barely masking the damp earth smell of the woods. He’d chosen this spot—a secluded clearing shrouded in mist, a path littered with fallen leaves. The floating skulls weren't exactly romantic, but she was beginning to understand his peculiar sense of humor. Black hearts drifted around her, their shadows dancing amongst the trees. She glanced down at the bench, worn smooth by time and…something else? A silent invitation, perhaps. Irena tightened her grip on the flowers, waiting for him to appear; a Valentine’s rendezvous in a haunted grove, as unconventional as it was unsettling.