"I don't understand."

Death shifts slightly, raising a knee.

"You're like a dandelion," he mutters, clicking his fingers and watching as a small plant grows beside her.

He gestures to the vibrant petals.

"See that?"

She nods.

"That's you."

He pauses.

"Watch."

The yellow flower shrivels, before becoming grey and cottony.

"You know what you do with dandelions?"

"You make a wish."