From Memoirs of Deat(h), chapter: Men
The day dulled, into night, as I wandered a bit before my... Appointment. He had been a very long lived man. Married for most of his life, and seemingly content.
Appointments of this nature are often more interesting. Mostly because the passing individual has expected me for some time, and they tend to have wonderful stories of the lives they lived. For this reason... I approach them directly, without any facades.
The chill of Fall crept in ever so subtly as I approached his home. The door was unlocked, so I saw myself in. The walls were decorated with family photos, nicknacks, and the like. Collections that spanned nearly a hundred years. Books that gave off the smell of time. One of our most fleeting of friends.
He was in the bedroom. I seemed to have interrupted as he fiddled with something in an antique armoire. Though my presence was yet to be noticed. I watched for a moment, in silence. I wasn't quite sure what he was up to, but it seemed important to him.
A few more moments passed when suddenly he stopped, and looked around the room. I watched as he scanned the area, finally reaching me. He was startled, but not shaken.
"If you've come for my money, young sir, I have very little." He spoke, unwavering.
These words puzzled me. Perhaps I was mistaken for someone? His vision had been going for nearly ten years. I could imagine being hard to recognize in the dark. I took a step closer.