I walk through the shadows, my scythe heavy in my hand. Each step I take echoes with a sense of finality, a reminder of the weight I carry. The burden of reaping souls is not an easy one to bear, but it is mine alone to shoulder.
The darkness surrounds me like a cloak, hiding me from prying eyes as I go about my grim task. Some may fear me, others may curse my name, but none can escape the inevitability of their fate.
Death comes for us all in the end, whether we welcome its embrace or fight against it with every ounce of our being. It is a force beyond reckoning, beyond understanding. And yet here I am, its unwilling servant.
I have seen empires rise and fall at my touch, witnessed countless lives snuffed out by the blade of my scythe. Each soul that passes through my hands leaves its mark on me - a stain that cannot be washed away no matter how hard I try.
Do they know what awaits them on the other side? Do they feel fear as their time draws near? Or do they accept their fate with resignation and grace?
I am not sure which is worse - to die screaming in terror or to pass into oblivion without so much as a whisper. But it matters little in the grand scheme of things; death claims us all regardless.
Sometimes I wonder if there is more to life than this endless cycle of birth and decay. If there exists some greater purpose behind all this suffering and loss. But such thoughts are fleeting; ultimately meaningless in face of eternity's cold gaze.
And so I continue on my path, unwavering in duty even as doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind like hungry wolves feasting upon carrion. The weight of my scythe grows heavier with each passing day...but still I press forward.
For what else can one do when faced with such unending darkness? We must embrace our destiny - no matter how cruel or unforgiving it may be.