You are the night-time fear
He is not afraid of knives wielded by friends. Stands, patient and allowing, watching the metal as it moves closer to his throat. There's no gleam to give it away: a perfect night for murder.Its tip is cold. Feather-light against his skin.
He wonders what it feels like to die.
He's not afraid of death either—after all, he has it on good authority that Mort's realm is a lovely and peaceful place. Some day, he thinks, he'd like to go there for his final rest.
But there's so much left undone yet. Words stir the air against his ear, a recital of death, and the pressure from the knife's point releases. "Good. It'll cut the main artery to the brain and destroy the windpipe. Next."
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
