It was the purest white he had ever seen. Blinding, almost, yet he was not squinting. In fact, he was not scowling, either. Severus Snapes trademark expression had abandoned him, leaving behind one of tranquility and content. He felt as if the overwhelming gravity that used to pound on his head, furrow his brows, and slouch his shoulders was gone. He felt light, yet stable on what was now soft, dewy grass.
All around him the brilliant white was fading away to reveal a small clearing in a green and luminous forest. There was no sun. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every flower petal seemed to emit its own yellow light. Severus could feel the damp blades between his bare toes, making him aware of his own nakedness. He looked down on his bare arms to find that while he was still pale, his skin had lost its usual sickly pallor. He touched his face, almost surprised to find it still there. He was still a being, still a form. He half expected to be a cloud of dust.
It was complicated