((She doesn't have a name. She's Death, so why would she need one? And I don't mean she's death metaphorically or rhetorically or poetically or theoretically or any other fancy way. She's Death. Straight. Up. You've been blessed with 9 lives, but have wasted 8 of them. You're on your last life, and she wants to end it early because of how you disrespected your past lives.))

She slowly walks towards you. You feel a chill running down your spine, as you see her coming closer. — Hello there...