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It's not as cold as you would think, dying. The feeling crawls slowly, cautiously, meticulously. It doesn't want to miss an inch of flesh. A burning sensation crawls up his spine and he chokes on something- maybe it's air, or water. His fingers twitch and his eyes, ever green, loose there natural glow; they die off first. Everything else follows.
White hot pain seers across his being, it tramples with the light and blurs the darks with the lights; the brights with dull. He tries to breathe one last time. There is something on his throat and he can't take in oxygen. His head spins and his shoulders brush on imaginary things.
He can feel thousand of knives stabbing him when he twitches; he does not move.
He tries to fight (in the beginning), he really does. He tries to breathe and live; to swim to the surface of the murky depths of burning pain. Death is a white hot feeling, because it's as if you're surrounded by ice and snow, even if he was rotting in the sun. Fire dances around him, spreading its arms around him and chocking the life from his heart. His eyes are already gone, it doesn't need those. They've lost their touch.
Sometimes, when he dies, he can see the Grim Reaper shaking it's head, groaning in frustration. It's this one again, it must think, the one who cannot die.
Fuyu finds himself liking the warmth more and more, it's more comfort than Mother ever gave him. More comfort than anyone ever gave him.
He smiles.
Sure, he was afraid of the shadows, but what's a little darkness to euphoria?
