Camilla stepped away from the window, tears silently streaming from her eyes. She couldn't believe that her beautiful city had been reduced to this in so little time! A few hours could change your life, they said. Or in her case, a few hundred years, even though she didn't know it yet. Camilla looked back into the splurge of green and brown. Carefully, quietly she snatched up the crowbar in one hand, holding it tighter than her life. She stuck the scalpel through her belt, choosing to keep it by her if need be. As she turned to face the door a strange sharp noise of metal filled her ears. She turned back around, "hmm?" Her voice felt croaky, her mouth dry and unused, yet the sound that came out was as sweet as the thousand year old voice inside her. Outside in the ruins, something new lay there. A pure white cylinder machine was hovering, creating blue light on the floor. A black line stood around where it's head would be if it were human. It moved, seeming to turn around and blue eyes shined light on Camilla, and a high shrill erupted from a third blue light. It pierced Camilla's eyes like a knife, sharp as ice and hateful as ashes fallen after a fresh fire, destroying everything that has ever been, and would be. Yet the girl wasn't scared, only confused. What was this? What was it doing? But a memory tugged at Camilla's mind, something seeming a thousand years ago, yet so close she could almost reach out and touch it. The machine hovered towards Camilla, who was fixed in place, frozen as if stuck in quicksand. Her expression was that of shock, confusion with a pinch of fear mixed in to flavour it. Camilla's eyes flashed a bright blue, staring like that for a few seconds, and the machine backed away instinctively. Camilla was even more confused at that, what was it doing? Why didn't it just kill her? She slowly backed away now too, gripping the crowbar tightly, ready to swing it at a moments notice. A million and one thoughts ran through her head, each scenario creating a worse picture in her head, each poisoning her thoughts and making her tremble in her footsteps. Camilla gulped and ducked behind the bed, noticing something written in scratches on the side. 'Run.' Little did she know she had an angel watching over her. That angel had carved the words into her bed with a scythe sharp as an icicle falling from a spire, it could kill with a swipe, with a touch, with the slightest move. She didn't know her angel's name. But her angel was more powerful than life, more powerful than anything. He controlled it all in a hood of darkness. Her angel's name was Death.