Amon silently glided through the ethereal night, his cow-skull mask casting an eerie glow under the moonlight. Tonight was one of those nights when he had to fulfill his role as the Grim Reaper.
His destination was a quiet suburban neighborhood, where the thread of life was growing thin for an elderly man named Mr. Jenkins.
As Amon approached the dimly lit room where Mr. Jenkins lay on his deathbed, he could already sense the weight of the old man's fading existence. The room was filled with a quiet hush, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment.
Amon stepped into the shadows, unseen by the living but keenly felt by those nearing the end. He focused on Mr. Jenkins' fading gaze, ready to guide him through the tapestry of memories.