The darkness around them spread, welcoming, embracing. Comforting. The creature pulled back the cowl of its cloak. The face was young and male—unearthly perfection. Around his neck, a torque of dark stone—Wyrdstone, she vaguely recalled—gleamed in the rain. This was the god of death incarnate. It was not with any mortal man’s expression or voice that he smiled and said, “You.”
