|The Yellow Brick Road
You make a sound like a wounded giraffe. No one comes to your aid.
As you take your last breath, you feel relieved of your burdens. The feeling passes as you find yourself before the gates of Hell, where the spirits jeer at you and deny you entry. Your senses are disturbed. The objects in the dungeon appear indistinct, bleached of color, even unreal.
You appear to be made of a translucent floating white substance. There seems to be a golden halo hovering above your head.