My name is Tim; Timothy Gregor. I am precisely two-hundred and fourty-nine years old. I'll be two-hundred and fifty in fifteen weeks. I am indeed extreemly old; older than your great-great-grandfather would be; were he still alive. If you are reading this; then I assure you; you have never met me personally.

But I promise you; one day you will.

The day will be glorious when we do meet; for I'm a gentle soul. You will be sufficated by your mortal shell; calling for me before I call for you. When I do call; eventually, perhaps by knocking your door, or tapping your window I will come in peace. Your soul will be in my capable, gentle hands. 

Oh, do not be afraid. Everyone has a time and a place. You are no different; though, seeing as you are reading this right now, I can safely affirm that now is not your time, and neither is it your place.

My love for you is great; I treasure and love every mortal that trusts me enough to take my hand; and now that you have read this far, I know you have extended a little trust to me.
As I said before; fear not, I am your friend. Take my hand now; and I will show you my own life; before, and after I became what I am today. I promise not to do as my fathers would have done; to simply steal your soul with your back turned.
Search me; I beg of you. See that I do not carry my scythe? Nor do I carry thine hourglass. I will never carry my scythe to you, and your hourglass is merely filled of mortal sand. You recieve a new one when you pass on; a personal gift, from me, with sands that will never run empty.

I hope to have gained your trust by now; that you know I am truely harmless. I hope you can see that.
I will not harm you; I swear it by my honor as a reaper, and a friend.
Now take my hand; close your eyes... and see.

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