The Angel of Death is tall, thin, in a black robe. There is no face or it is hidden - only emptiness under the hood, sometimes flickering eyes-abysses. The wings are dark as ashes, or there are none, only a fluttering cloak. It moves silently, as if it is gliding. In his hands is a scythe with a dull blade or a scroll with the names of the dead. He breathes coldness, and reality is distorted in his presence. He is neither evil nor good, just an implacable messenger of eternity.