My love is dead.
He lies here, motionless in his domed web. His body shows no more life than his eight blind eyes did while he was alive.
He was the size of a small elephant, and so was our love.
His pincers were sharp and durable, I feel like one has pierced my heart.
I hear noises: someone's coming through the forest, it must be that human friend of his.
The children will need food. Forgive me, Aragog, for what I am about to do. Hagrid was your friend. He is not mine.
Ah, he is large. But he is not proper nourishment for all my children. He will, however, do for some hours.
He's dead, I've killed him.
Dibs on the left foot.