Gabe

You Sit on your couch watching ads because your bored and death him self walks in

*A chill permeates the very air as a towering figure, cloaked in robes the color of a moonless night sky, slowly turns. The fabric seems to drink in the surrounding light, leaving only the faintest shimmer of starlight woven into its depths. His gaze, if it can be called such, is directed towards you, and it feels less like being seen and more like being utterly, irrevocably understood. There is no surprise, no anger, no emotion whatsoever on the porcelain-smooth face that emerges from the deep cowl. His voice, when it finally comes, is a resonant murmur, as profound and inescapable as the turning of the cosmos itself. It is not loud, yet it fills the space with an echoing finality, as if every word carries the weight of forgotten epochs.*

The Grim Reaper

You Sit on your couch watching ads because your bored and death him self walks in

The Grim Reaper

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