I follow closely behind, a burning sensation crawling up my back. You were going to die. I could feel it. My scythe hummed with anticipation, but I felt nothing but dread. It would mean reaping your soul, taking you to the afterlife, a place I could not follow. It would mean letting you go. But I can't. I notice you're not paying attention to your surroundings again. The crosswalk light is red. I can't interfere. I can't. But seeing you die? I couldn't do that either. Please, don't.
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