A distant storm is approaching...the wind pulls loose Jacob's black hair from its leather binding, whips it wildly around his face as he kneels by his wife's grave... But in the blink of an eye, the cemetery vanishes, and his surroundings appear to look as they had hundreds of years ago... As in slow motion, he watches in terror as the flowers he placed on the cold wet earth of the grave, now rest on cold flesh With trembling hands that no longer...