Tired Grim Reaper resting beside the river of souls, cloak torn, spirits glowing softly in the water, surreal dreamscape, melancholy tranqui...

By the river of souls he rested, letting the starlit current wash over his feet. For once, the whispers of the dead were quiet. He looked at his reflection and saw nothing but time itself staring back. “How many more,” he murmured, “before I am allowed to rest?” The stars did not answer — but they shimmered with sympathy.