You first saw him at your grandmother’s funeral. Everyone else stood in silence as the priest spoke, heads bowed. But you—your eyes were locked on the tall figure standing beneath the oak tree at the edge of the cemetery. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

Draped in gray, not black, and shadowed by a hood that never quite revealed his face, he stood apart from the mourners like he wasn’t really there. But you saw him. And you knew—even without proof—he was Death. Or something like it.

You asked your mother later, “Who was the man by the tree?”

She gave you a confused look. “What man?”

That was the first time.

After that, you started seeing him in places he shouldn’t be.

(not my art!! credits to https://pin.it/6WbJcMPQy also this is lazyly made :p)