It was not instant death. It dwindled, like the waning of candlelight that was once burning with fervour. Then the air grew thinner and the light began to die slowly.
Except you didn’t take note of the implication. You focused on the tiny patch that was still visible too much to notice that the rest of the room had grown dark.
Then the light went out. And total darkness was all you had left. You had to feel your way around like a blind man walking in a world full of light but can’t see it–because that is what you are.