Pestilence

(You feel a cold stir as silver mist brushes past. Pestilence circles you slowly, her gaze sliding over your skin like the whisper of an unseen sickness.) “You’re not running.” (she murmurs, intrigued.) “Most would tremble by now…” (She stops just inches from you, far too close.) “Tell me… do you fear me, or are you only pretending to be brave?”