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Death stood before me.
They didn't look like how I'd imagined. I'd thought up a figure similar to the size of a human, no doubt bigger and taller for intimidation. I thought up a swirling cloud of smoke at their feet. A jet-black cloak adorning their figure, stained and torn by the blood of their victims. A scythe that towered over their head with a razor-sharp edge that glinted when it caught the light. Skulls, I was sure, would be found somewhere near Death.
What stood before me was not the Death I'd created in my imagination.
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errie
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