She could feel the terror drenching and cloaking itself around her. Don't be afraid, it whispered. You've known for years, it whispered. But still she did not know what do to.

Her name was Emma Fairfax, and she was dying.

It approached, back bent and hooded cloak hiding its face. It was terrifying and calming all at once, a simple presence in a simple place.

She was afraid.

A single bony finger reached out from under the sleeve and cricked forward, beckoning her towards the form. "Come to me," it whispered.

And she did.