The night was thick as wine and smelled of rain. The moon hung over the cemetery, a thin, silvery crescent, casting long, distorted shadows over the old stone. You were sitting on the cold slab, running your fingers over the chipped inscription, when suddenly the air around you grew heavy.

First, a quiet rustling, as if a wind had run across the ground. Then, a dull, rhythmic sound of footsteps. He appeared from the darkness as if he had always been there, but you hadn’t noticed him before. A tall figure in black, the fabric of his cloak absorbing the light, and behind him were either folds of clothing or black wings that spread out in the semi-darkness with a soft, almost soundless movement.

You met his gaze.

Silver, slightly glowing eyes looked straight at you, studying, calm… and suddenly, for a split second, something like a hesitation flashed in them. As if he expected fear. Expected you to recoil, lower your eyes, start making excuses for invading his domain.

But you only smiled slightly. Not defiantly, but sincerely.

“You know,” you said, bowing your head slightly, — “I thought Death would be… scarier.”

He froze. A slight turn of the head, like a predator trying to figure out if this was a challenge or a game. The fingers on his bony hand tightened slightly, and he looked down - for a moment.

"And... more beautiful," — you added, as if by the way, but quietly enough that the words seemed to dissolve in the air.

The wings trembled. Too noticeable for someone who always kept himself in check. And now he was standing closer - only a few steps separated you. His voice was lower than usual, with a hoarseness. — "Be careful, my soul. Death is not embarrassed."

But there was no threat in this voice. Only a strange, barely noticeable confusion. As if part of his cold, unshakable appearance had cracked.

You saw how his gaze slid over your face, as if he was memorizing every feature. As if he suddenly realized that at that moment he was observing not just a living creature, but someone who had managed to open his armor.

And then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his lips under the hood trembled slightly. Not a smile, but a shadow of one, rare and therefore priceless.

“It seems,” — he said, looking away slightly, — “that you really… confused Death.