The deathly sound of the clock rang throughout the rooms and faded as always. But this time the celebrations did not come back to life, because the new figure had control over everyone's attention. This unique figure was shrouded in a void-black robe that covered his entire body except his face, which was hidden by a peculiar mask. In contrast to the darkness of the robes, the skinny mask was a pure, ghostly white with two blood-red curved lines, thicker at the top of the mask and thinner towards the bottom, through the eyes that were empty holes. The air around him was cold and stale, as if death lingered around him, waiting for its next victim. From the outskirts of the crowd, he approached the revelers, each step echoing unnaturally loudly. People turned away from him, fearing that some terrible fate might befall them if they approached him, as he walked towards an unknown destination. Undisturbed and unhindered, he continued on a path, as yet undiscovered, towards the unaware Prince Prospero. Although he had a slow pace, he covered an inexplicable distance in a short amount of time. A masked man from the retreating group became angry and curious about this mysterious man. He ran towards the figure and placed a hand on its mask with the intent of ripping it off the ghostly man. The moment he put his hand on the mask, he screamed in agony and pain. Then, unable to free his hand or mask, his fate was sealed. His scream died away with his last breath, as he aged and crumpled on the shining floor in a pile of black ash. Absolute silence and stillness filled the room before a wine glass, half full of a red drink, dropped from the whitley g... in the center of the card... the tenth toll took its share of the defenseless men. Pale as the ghost he was about to become, Prospero landed softly on the floor of the black room, where he was certain he would meet his death. The black room contained the ominous ornaments and tapestries as always, but now it contained Death. The blood-red glass cast an eerie light that bathed the entire room in a dim, gory light. Death loomed over that gaunt figure barely recognizable as the former honorable Prince Prospero, as he now had the appearance of an elderly man with gray hair sprouting from his leathery, wrinkled skin. The eleventh chime sounded and the prince was reduced to a pile of black ash, indistinguishable from any other pile of dust. When the final twelfth chime sounded, Death vanished along with the light from the brazier in the black room, leaving the entire castle empty and lifeless..