(I'm not from Europe, so I'm going to try to write this from a pov of someone who does!) The Black Death has killed hundreds of thousands of people in Europe, and counting. The only way to stay alive is to stay away. It's 1348, and life couldn't get much worse. Every day more and more bodies are laid out in the boiling sun. People are dying of the plague too fast for us to even burry them. I fear that I might be next.


1. Prolouge

 Not a single stone stands to represent the one hundred bodies I have laid in the soft earth. A mass grave, full of empty promises and empty bodies. No time, no money to even mourn their loss. By the time you buy and etch a stone, you're dead too.

 My name is Jacob Wiggins. I'm fourteen years of age, and I have a feeling that's the number going on my grave, if I'm even lucky enough to get one. I've been working as gravedigger ever since the plague broke out last spring. I work to support my sister, Emily. Our father died in a horse accident a few months back, leaving behind a wife, an eleven year old, and a five year old on the streets at the mercy of the Black Plague.


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