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The Angel Of Death

       He stood up, brushing his black jeans off with the back of his thin, pale hands.
       You still feel the aftershock of being knocked to the ground, but it was no simple feeling. You felt the air around you tremble as you slowly tilt your chin up. The tall boy had spiky hair and was clad in black, with the exception of gray and silver chains dangling from his two studded belts. Your eyes dart beneath your red bangs, trying to take in the handsome teen before you.
        “Sorry,” He mutters, shaking your attention from the pentagram on his Converse. You wearily look into his deep brown eyes and automatically lose your train of thought. You squint, eyes starting to unfocus. This guy... is giving off an aura. It’s dark, but at the same time, it’s welcoming. His ivory hand slowly lowers to your kneeling figure.
        “Who are you?” You stutter, yet take his hand. As you do so, you feel a shock run down the entire length of your arm.
         “Why are you in my mind?” You whisper as he hoists you up silently.
        Standing close to the odd boy, a sense of dread arises in your stomach. A sweet, low voice flows from his pastel lips.
         “I am what they call The Angel of Death.”
         You blink, trying to absorb the information. However, he doesn’t even give you a chance to comprehend what he said before he speaks again.
“It’s your time.”

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