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The Death Prophet
In all my years of being a... what am I? Death prophet? Whatever. I had never actually touched a corpse in real life. So I reached out my hand and tried to touch them. This was like ice. No, colder than ice. The sort of cold that just cuts right through you. It made me think of dead worlds floating out into space. Places that didn't know and didn't care that life even existed. Like the seconds that were dragging me to the grave were being pulled out of me. And the worst part was that somewhere in me, I liked it. Underneath all that awful fear it felt like... Home.