Limp. Lifeless. Ravaged by evil, now gently handled by friends. Even in death, he draws the fearful from the immunity of shadows.
His body is already cold. Mary tenderly holds her son. She weeps and whispers her love, unwilling to surrender him. But the ebbing sunlight infuses the companions with haste. Reluctantly, she releases her firstborn into their waiting hands. And they bear him to the tomb.