Death stood in the doorway, watching.
He shook snow from the shoulders of his calf-length coat, brushing his shoes off on the doormat and doffing his boler hat respectfully. He didn’t really have to say anything, merely held out a hand; I took it and rose slowly out of my armchair, shedding my body like old snakeskin. I couldn’t help but glance down at my own still form, curiosity getting the better of me.
“It was quick,” he reassured me. “Like falling asleep.”
I nodded and followed him, clinging to his hand like a child.
“Where’re we going?”
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