On The Run From The Reaper

Ch. 01: The Kiss of Death

Ch. 01: The Kiss of Death

It had become a habit. A horrible, beautiful habit.

I would sit and wait for his immanent  arrival – I could feel when he was near, the subtle twitch in the air like a fire beneath my skin. I know that it shouldn’t be like this. But, in these last few months, he had shown me a side to him that had never before leaked into his hardcore character. For the first time, I had seen the man beneath the black robe. And I liked him.

When the ninth bell in the clock tower sounded, I felt the wind twist around me in a silent caress. He was here. The windows burst forth, and snow flurries caked my windowsill in their alabaster brilliance. Lace curtains beat wildly as the wind started to increase in intensity. Faster and faster, the snowflakes funneled inside of my room in a tornado of white. And then, it was all over. The windows slid closed and the snow melted on the wooden floor. All that remained was the Reaper…

There was no terror as I looked on his face, but should there have been? Was this not the man who had tried to save me on numerous occasions, even if the Reaper bloodline forbade it? I didn’t know if I should be worried, but I wasn’t. The silver of his scythe reflected a pristine, white moonbeam. As soon as my eyes fell upon it, he yanked it back and cast it aside. It vanished into the darkness.

And with that, he walked over to the corner and leaned on the wall. I could not see him, at least not well. But I could make out the faint shimmer of icy blue eyes, which seemed to bore into me, almost as if they could see the words of trust and thankfulness that had been written on my heart. He had saved me from other Reapers. I owed him my life, even if I did not wish to part from it.

So, he stood there. He did not talk, and I did not force him too. Silently, I wondered about him. What land of the Reaper Territory did he come from? Was he of noble blood? I pondered all of these in silent meditation, rocking back and forth ever-so-slightly and humming a soft tune as I went. I didn’t know the name of it. But it seemed old, ancient almost, and it came to me like an old friend lost over time.

Suddenly, I turned to him. At last, I could not help but feed my curiosity. “What’s your name?”

Silence.

“I mean, doesn’t it seem a bit odd that you know all about me, but I know so little about you? Do you think that I don’t wonder? Or do you think that I don’t care?” I asked, my voice unintentionally hard.

Silence.

“Rebekah and Wade Walker – you took them from me when I was fourteen. You tried to take me as well, but I wouldn’t let you.” I didn’t know where this confidence came from, but it continued to manifest within me. “At sixteen, you tried to end it with a fire.”

Silence.

I narrowed my dark blue eyes in his direction, but I doubted that he could see the sentiment. “Illness after illness came, but I survived them all. I still live with the scars.”

Silence.

“All I ever asked in return was your name.”

“Azrael.”

A shiver chased down my spine, and I found myself curled into a ball on the center of the bed. For the first time, the night felt exceptionally cold, and the flimsy material of my night dress did little to shield me from it. Azrael. He was the Prince of Death – the son of the Grim Reaper himself. And I, I was the blemish on his would-be impeccable record. In order to win back his father’s respect, he would have to take me down.

“You’ve come, then, to finish it?” I forced out, the words sounding foreign to my own ears.

“No.” Azrael answered.