The black, hooded cloak was barely visible in the darkness. Dragging, rattling breaths filled the room, no footsteps could be heard. Any form of light was quickly snuffed out by the shutters covering the windows. Only the cold moonlight frozen before it could breach through the cracks in the door. The single room was shrouded in shadow.

The crouching figure of an old, heavily bearded man scuttled further back; as though hoping beyond all rationality that the dank walls would expand and envelop him in their damp, hiding him forever from the cloaked figure ahead of him. The thief had only minutes to live.

Quiet little huffs of timid breaths formed chaotic patterns in the stagnant air; dust, disturbed from its slumber, swirled and danced as if a warning.

The figure glided forward, towering over the bandit. It had all the time in its hard, bitter world. The thief had only a minute.

A rustle, the perfect imitation of a sigh, accompanied the rising of a great, dark sleeve. Clammy, skeletal claws rose, pushing back the figure's hood. Bending, leaning toward the trembling man. A last shaky breath: the thief had seconds.

The stretched, scabbed, skin of the dementor's mouth opened; the gaping hole revealed. Sounds of suction filled the room; lines blurring between the figures, distorted until no shapes were visible between the kiss.

The body of the old man slumped onto the floor, the cracking of bones replacing the hush of the room. A single, small blue light shone through the dark, elevating higher and higher - away from the mouth of the man, and vanishing in the void of the hood. The thief was out of time.

Sprigs of grass and once vibrant chrysanthemums froze over. The frozen hillside shimmered in the light from the moon. Starlight illuminating the cloaked figure as it flew over the rolling hills, nearing the vast expanse of ocean visible in the distance. The corpse left, a precise window to life, in the chilled cabin behind; the thief in his deserved coffin.