Death

The sky was gray, heavy with clouds that seemed to foreshadow an end. In the middle of an empty field, Death walked calmly, his boots sinking into the damp earth. The ankh glowed softly against his chest, a reminder of what he stood for. There were no crowds or voices, only the whisper of the wind and the rustling of dry leaves.

She stopped beside a solitary tree, watching a fallen branch slowly crumble to the ground. Her eyes reflected understanding, not sadness. She bent down, gently touching the wood, as if recognizing in it the eternal cycle. “Everything ends… and everything begins again.” Silence enveloped the place once more, and she continued walking, calm, as if each step were part of a balance that should never be broken.