Darkness. Black, eerie silence covered what appeared to be dingy, gray brick-lined walls. The only source of light was coming through a small, open window. A young woman stood in the little puddle of light, her blue eyes blinking slowly as she rubbed her forehead. She looked around, trying to make out anything familiar, quietly talking to herself out loud, "What the... Mitchell, what did you get yourself into." She turned slowly, scanning every corner of the dark room, her pupils grew larger as they adjusted to the lack of light around her. She stopped, focusing on a duo of small, red, glowing specs across the room. "Hello?" The red lights disappeared simultaneously, then reappeared. Mitchell thought to herself, "Are those... eyes?"

Mitchell focused on the red eyes watching her. Every step she took, every millimetre she moved, they followed. She could feel them burning into her skin. No one has ever watched her so intently. Why should they? She was an outcast, a nobody.

Mitchell gathered up the courage to approach the person behind the eyes. She strode across the gap between them, keeping her chin high so she didn‘t appear nervous, a trickle of sweat dripping down her temple. Once she got close she could make out the scarlet designs on a hooded cloak, and all she could see underneath it was a sharp, pointed nose, the glowing of eyes, long strands of dark hair tucked poorly into the hood, and the reflections of a facial piercing. “If you’re going to stare at me all night you might as well say something!” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, her body slightly trembling with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. A few seconds went by and still no answer. She cleared her throat, trying to force out a sense of dominance. “Excuse me. I’m talking to you. You could have the common decency to answer me, damn it! I mean, if I was staring at a person that hard-“

“Just shut up.” A masculine voice; coarse and low cut through the air. The man lifted his chin, making eye-contact with her. His face caught the light and she could tell he was one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen. His skin was smooth, completely flawless, and he had very defined cheek bones. She could see more jewelry shimmering on his nose, lips, and eyebrow. Oh Gods, was he beautiful! He smirked, noticing she was staring deeply at him. Mitchell’s cheeks were red with embarrassment.

“There is no need to be rude,” she finally replied after what seemed like a huge delay, but he just kept smirking. “There is no need for you to feel high and mighty, either, Mister… Uh...”

“I'm most commonly known as Death,” he said as his smirk turned into a very sultry smile. Death slowly pulled back his hood, sliding it down to the top of his shoulders, revealing his long, thick, purple-black hair. Before Mitchell realized what she was doing, she found herself reaching for his silky mane. His fingers flickered in the moonlight, showing a glimpse of bones through the skin as he grabbed her wrist and smiled. “They don’t call me Death for nothing.”

Mitchell's whole body flinched as she tried to pull her arm away from him, failing to escape his tight hold on her. “Are you the Grim Reaper, or something? Am I dead?!” The tone of her voice rose higher with every word.

Death gently stroked her hand with his bony thumb before gently kissing each knuckle. A dark mist trickled down from his lips as he moved from knuckle to knuckle, leaving a slight burning sensation. “You could say that I am Reaper-like.” He turned her hand over and kissed her wrist. “As far as you being dead, unfortunately not in the sense you are thinking.”

Mitchell pulled her hand from his and examined herself. It looked like burns from a cigarette. She shook her hand to try and relieve some of the pain. “If I'm not dead dead, I have no reason to be afraid of you?” Her voice wavered, not sure if she was asking or telling him, showing her true feelings contradicted her words. Her face went through a series of outward emotions as she tried to understand the meaning of "Not in the sense you're thinking." Her eyes darted around, trying to fully take in her surroundings... trying to find a way back to where she last remembered being.

Mitchell began to pull on the strings on her pants. "Pajama pants? I must be dreaming..." she thought to herself. She began to loop the strings together to form a bow. “This is a dream. I’m in my pajamas at a place I’ve never been to, with a guy I’ve never met. Just a dream, a bad dream.”

“Then it must be a nightmare," Death replied, reaching into his cloak, retrieving a small metal case. He opened it an pulled out a cigarette, placing it gently between his lips as he lit it with just a touch of his finger. He took a long drag, exhaling a large cloud of smoke before speaking. "Just because it’s a nightmare, doesn’t mean I can’t kill you. Ever hear the saying if you die in your sleep, it’s a death omen for when you’re awake?” He pulled Mitchell through the cloud of smoke, forcing her to stand eye to eye. “So tiny and frail. You remind me of a rag doll.” He tilted her head side to side, examining her. She shut her eyes and squirmed, trying to break from the nightmare. Death ignored her struggling and continued to contort her body, occasionally pausing to move closer. He chuckled, "You're so... pale. You practically glow."

Mitchell screamed, "Just let go! Wake up, Mitchell, wake up!" She broke away from his hold on her and stumbled back, losing her footing causing her to collapse on the floor. She began to feel dizzy as a strange noise pounded over and over in her head. Death shook her and called her name, trying to keep her conscious in the dream realm she was stuck in, but her eyes continued to creep shut. Before she blacked out she took in one more glimpse of the mad man who broke into her mind.