The masked figure stands still. You repeat the question. Still no answer. You try once more. You see its right hand move with a certain grace, much like the movements of a retired ballerina dancer, and a few seconds later thoughts cannot be processed anymore. You lose track of time and everything else becomes dark. You do not understand English when you hear “May the hourglass reflect upon itself.” You collapse on the floor with the dagger still stuck in your temple. You are dead.