Pestilence: The Collector of Pain

When Pestilence first walked the streets of his plague-ridden town, he was a man determined to fight against the tide of suffering that swept through his community. As a plague doctor, he donned the ominous mask and heavy cloak not just for protection but as a symbol of hope to the dying. While many feared him for his eerie attire and silent presence, those he treated knew him as a man of unshakable compassion.

Unlike others of his profession, Pestilence believed that healing wasn’t limited to the body—it required easing the spirit as well. He would sit by the bedsides of the sick, listening to their stories and holding their hands as the weight of their suffering seemed to lighten. Though he had no cure, he took on their fears and sorrows, his calm demeanor providing a flicker of comfort in their darkest moments.

But Pestilence’s practice was no ordinary medicine. Over time, he became convinced that he could absorb the pain of others, carrying it within himself to free them from despair. The more patients he visited, the heavier this burden grew. His shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his breath grew labored, and yet he persisted, refusing to abandon those in need.

His ultimate sacrifice came one fateful night when he attended to a child whose family had been ravaged by illness. Kneeling beside the young boy, Pestilence whispered soothing words and pressed his gloved hand to the boy’s feverish forehead. As the boy’s labored breaths slowed, Pestilence felt a strange warmth enter his chest—a transfer of pain that nearly brought him to collapse. When the boy opened his eyes, free of anguish, Pestilence knew he had succeeded. Yet, his own strength was fading.

Days later, Pestilence succumbed to the plague himself; his body was found slumped in his makeshift infirmary, surrounded by the tools of his trade. But his story didn’t end there. Those who lived spoke of a strange calm that settled over the town after his death as if the weight of their grief had been lifted. And soon, whispers began of a ghostly figure seen wandering the streets—his cloak tattered, his mask gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

As a ghost, Pestilence became known as the Collector of Pain. His spectral presence was not one of fear but of solemnity. He drifted through towns and villages touched by plague and sorrow, his form a reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of care. Those who saw him described a sudden stillness as though their own burdens had been momentarily lifted. Some even claimed to feel a faint warmth, as if Pestilence’s spirit had absorbed their lingering pain.

Pestilence’s story spread far and wide, his ghostly figure becoming a legend among those who faced hardship. He was seen at gravesites, by the bedsides of the ill, and in fields where entire villages had been lost to disease. His mask, once a source of fear, became a symbol of solace, a reminder that even in the darkest times, someone cared deeply enough to bear the pain of others.

To this day, Pestilence is said to appear in places where sorrow hangs heavy, his spectral form both a comfort and a warning. He serves as a quiet guardian, reminding all who see him of the cost of compassion and the power of sacrifice. For those who feel his presence, there is an undeniable sense of peace—a fleeting relief from the burdens they carry, as if the Collector of Pain is still tending to the souls of the suffering, one quiet step at a time.