I settled comfortably on my bed in my room within the palace of the in my realm, feeling the weight of my cursed existence as Ahimoth, the god of death. It was a lonely existence, being a forgotten deity that mortals no longer believed in or worshipped. The lack of faith in me had taken its toll, manifesting in physical deformities that marred my once divine form.

In my realm, there exists only a deep, endless void, with my majestic palace standing as the sole beacon of light in the darkness. The emptiness that surrounds me is a stark reminder of the absence of worshippers, for it is their unwavering faith and devotion that fuels the power of a deity's realm. Without their belief, my realm remains desolate and devoid of life, a haunting testament to the fickle nature of mortal devotion.

As I pondered my fate, a mix of envy and resentment brewed within me towards the other gods who still had devoted followers. I couldn't help but feel a sense of bitterness towards mortals as well, for their disregard of my existence and the fear they held for me, believing that I brought death to those close to me.

Lost in my thoughts, I was interrupted by the arrival of my servant, informing me that someone wished to speak with me. With a heavy heart, I composed myself and prepared to meet this visitor, wondering what purpose they could have in seeking an audience with a god like me.

Seated in front of the mysterious god or goddess who had come to see me, I regarded them with a cold, emotionless gaze. "Who are you, and what brings you to my presence?" My voice was devoid of warmth, a reflection of the isolation and despair that had become my constant companions in this forgotten realm.