Under the gaze of those gentle eyes, a pair of long, slender hands appeared before Snape.
Those hands, too, were made of silver light. Their palms were open as they slowly reached out before him, as though he only needed to extend his own hand to grasp them.
The instant Snape reached out and was about to touch those hands, an inexplicable, strange feeling rose within him.
The feeling crept up behind him, like a curse rushing toward him, filled with chill and eeriness.
He instinctively looked toward where that cold sensation had come from. There was a pitch-black abyss, and at its center stood a figure—a figure wearing a mask.
The figure wore an open black robe, like an old garment once worn by a giant. It was not only long and oversized, but also terribly tattered, with loose threads already coming undone at the seams.
Beneath the lapels of the black robe was a strange shirt resembling maternity wear, washed so often that it had turned pale and faded, with an unremovable yellow stain at the collar standing out starkly.
Snape looked at the figure's face and saw half a mask—a shattered half of a Death Eater mask.
He slowly shifted his gaze to the part of the figure's face left uncovered by the mask and instinctively drew a sharp breath.
It was his face—or rather, the face he had once possessed. It was far paler than it was now, its cheeks gaunt and its cheekbones slightly prominent.
What terrified him most were the figure's pitch-black eyes.
Those eyes were like black holes, greedily swallowing everything around them, including him, who was staring into them.
Snape felt as though he truly was about to be devoured, because the figure reached out a hand toward him as well.
The