Death
I feel my body tense and I breathe in deeply. I smell the smell of Death. I hear the feeble whimpering and breathless panting of one of the other inmates. He will go soon. They all do. I have seen three others in that cell before him; they come and go like the rising tide. I recall a time that I, too, was afraid of the sure-footed Death, creeping ever closer. But then I realized, my Lord is the Master of Death. He will keep me safe from its icy clasp, free of its snare. I laugh wildly as the man fades.
Death is but my peer; we both live to serve the Dark Lord. Death bows down to my Lord. And I, His most faithful, will be exalted over all others.
Death can hurt me no more.