creativeshamen

Scythe in hand it purposefully, yet playfully floats from soul to soul. In the crowd I picked it scent up easier than usual. The stench of stuffy, decaying clothes... the one thing that really lasts. He purposefully toys with me not knowing fear but being fear itself. I sense the world around me decaying as it always does when he stops moving. My claws clawing what seems like ice as earth turns to dust. The market and people ghosting as he doubles back through himself. There are no eyes to stare but I sense his glare. His words like tentacles fill my mind and wrap themselves around me. "You"... "Yes, me..." I reply in disgust. "I've come for your soul!"