I think I might be dead.
Because The Angel of Death carried me in his arms. He was breathtaking—sharp features chiseled like they could carve stone, and dark, beautiful eyes. My body felt distant, my limbs heavy, as though I were fading into nothingness, yet I fought to keep my eyes open to see him clearly.
"Are you the Angel of Death?" I asked, curiosity overriding the dull ache spreading through me. My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me.
He laughed—a low, resonant sound that rippled through my fragile body like a tremor. For a moment, I forgot my pain, mesmerized by the warmth of his voice. Then it struck again, sharp and unrelenting, surging through me like a storm. I couldn't bear it. My eyes fluttered shut, tears tracing paths down my face as pain overwhelmed me.
I felt his arms tighten around me, firm but gentle, pulling me closer as if to shield me from the torment.
"you're safe now." his gentle voice filled my ears.
A strange warmth enveloped me, soothing the edges of my suffering. I wasn't sure if I was dying or being saved, but in that moment, wrapped in his embrace, I felt suspended between the two—between an end and something I couldn't yet name.