When I was a child, my nanny told me a story about death. She said that werewolves would go into the void after death, and the Moon Goddess would wait for her children. All the dead would rest in the arms of the Moon Goddess. But she never told me that death was torturous; it was hot.
The fire was burning my body. It was hot. So very hot. I was like a captive chrysalis; the burning pain was tormenting me. I was in so much pain that I wanted to scream, but I couldn't make a sound. I tried to break free, but I had no strength. My nerves were paralyzed, my mind was blank, the burning sensation on my body was getting stronger and stronger, and I couldn't breathe.
As my consciousness faded, I began compromising in my struggle with the flames. I wanted to give up. But at that moment, a voice echoed in my mind.
'Wake up, wake up!'
'No, I can't do it!' I answered in my heart.