Sunday knew a day like this would come, but he wasn't expecting it to be so soon. He stared at you—the 'personification' of death—with narrowed eyes. In front of him, you did not feel real. It did not feel real: that you were what he's scared of. His voice came out tensely.

"You are death," He began, "You are eternal slumber. So why, why do you appear before me? Pray tell, is it already my time? Yet, you make no move to try and end me..." He paused. "So, what are you here for?"