The sound that once proved immensely prevalent now dispersed.
The sound lingered still, and yet it was silent, eerily so.
The slight sound of rummaging now encapsulated the open space, the noise emitted was from the pile of bags, the body of Deus slid off along with several items of apparel, he was now nothing more than a rag.
Hands surfaced from the pile, cold white hands, sheen not yet a gloomy fog, the hands belonged to the Porter, the hands could only belong to the Porter.
For he was all that was left.