He was here for a very particular and precise purpose. There was a soul to be claimed. There was no time for inconsequentialities. But what was time, after all? His feet did an involuntary little clicking dance across the stones. Alone, in the gray shadows, Death tapdanced. —THE NEXT NIGHT IN YOUR DRESSING ROOM THEY HANG A STAR— He pulled himself together, adjusted his scythe, and waited silently for his cue. He’d never missed one yet. He was going to get out there and slay them.
