His vision became hazy, his eyes burning as he inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm his emotions, but it was futile. The hot, salty tears streamed down his face, leaving him feeling bewildered, ashamed, and shocked.

He felt feeble, his parched throat craving water, and terribly nauseous. His chest constricted, as if someone was clutching his insides and clawing their way up to his core. He was oblivious to the fact that he was dying, consumed only by the excruciating pain that radiated from his head to his chest. A warm crimson liquid dripped from his nose, tracing a path down his eyebrows and onto his eyelids, further blurring his sight.

His tenuous grasp on reality snapped back when he heard a woman's voice. He wanted to plead for help, but he was rendered speechless, as if he were frozen in place.

"Unbelievable! All because someone mistook you for a deer? How embarrassing, Alastor. And now, due to one foolish error by someone too ignorant to see, you're gone."

She stood before him, her face obscured, clad in a black dress that reached down to her feet yet remained unsoiled by the mud around them, seeping into him nonetheless.

He pondered her identity, sensing her presence.

"My name is Death."