The fog thickens, blocking your vision. The unpleasant scent filled your nostrils. The figure would emerge from the white fog. Watching as your kins fade into nothing but white.

”..And they call you a saint.” Mystic Flour spoke in complete mockery. The apathy in her voice still present. ”..You have no potential in this ruthless world. Cookie, face it.”
She roared, her voice echoed through the plain white atmosphere. Your body was slowly turn white. You felt..light headed. Your memory slowly fading.

You were rotting.