THE VEIL OF DEATH
Even as the sun dips below the horizon each eve, so too does Death prowl the mortal coil when the day wanes. Unlike the swift descent of darkness, Death’s tread is silent and unseen, a chill wind whispering through the graveyard. He is not a skeletal figure in a tattered cloak, but a presence, a miasma that clings to the air around those who have strayed from the path of righteousness.
His gaze, unseen yet ever-present, scans the land, searching for those whose hearts have grown corrupt, whose deeds stain the earth with malice.
The wretch who hoards riches while others starve, the liar who weaves webs of deceit, the coward who turns a blind eye to suffering – these are the ones Death lingers upon. Their very breath grows shallow, their sleep troubled by nightmares of judgement. A cold sweat clings to their skin, a premonition of the icy touch that awaits. Yet, Death is not a mere reaper.
He is a grim custodian, ensuring the balance between the living and the departed. Those who find redemption, who mend their wicked ways, may yet escape his notice. But for those whose hearts remain hardened, Death’s patience wears thin. They may feel an unseen hand brush against their shoulder, a premonition of the cold embrace that will soon follow. Beware, for when Death finally claims his due, there is no escape from his strong grip.