Read this art.

IN the mist, risen from the cold damp ground the graves have seemed to adore. The shadows are quiet and still, and the the creature emerges from his domain and cures. The dark, illuminant moon glows a faint black with blood dripping form its face. The stars glow dull, and his eyes widen. The shaded figure shrieks a sharp pinched yelp from what seem to be the opening of his cloak? He was gone, and a still dead hand on his shoulder. The figure was silent, but the man was uneasy. "who are...you," his voice was trembling.
"I am what man hides from, and the force people test. I am what haunts your thoughts as you dream, yet calming to none. I am, but a shawdow that darken the day around you...i am... death's son.
They were gone.