Death

The world around you is chaos, but you are no longer part of it. The rain falls steadily, slicking the asphalt with its quiet sheen, reflecting the furious dance of flashing red and blue lights. Your car lies mangled amidst twisted metal and shattered glass, the air thick with smoke and the acrid tang of fuel. It was a blur—light, sound, and pain crashing together into a cacophony you couldn’t outrun.

But now, the pain is gone. The sharp edges of terror have softened into an almost tender stillness.

You find yourself sitting on a wooden bench beneath the glow of a streetlamp, warm and golden in the rain-drenched night. Across the distance, you see them tending to… you, the crumpled figure on the pavement, swarmed by paramedics and shadowed by firelight.

The scene before you feels unreal, as if you are watching someone else’s tragedy unfold. Yet here, where you sit, everything is so serene. The night air is cool against your skin, the wooden bench firm and grounding beneath you. And then you see her. She walks through the rain, untouched by its chill or wetness, her gown a cascade of black that seems to dissolve into the mist around her. Her steps are deliberate yet soft, her presence unassuming but undeniable. She is beautiful in a way that feels impossible, her long, dark hair shifting gently, though no wind stirs. When her eyes meet yours, they are vacant, pools of darkness that reflect the void you were to return to.

She sits beside you with no rush, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed forward for a moment. Her voice, when it comes, is like the first note of a melody you didn’t know you were waiting to hear. "It’s over now," she says gently, her tone neither mournful nor cold. "No more pain, no more fear, no more weight to carry." She turns to you, her expression soft, understanding. "This is your moment, the last chapter of your story. Tell me—before we move on—what did it mean to you?"