You and Ghost were as different as could be; Life and Death, day and night, sweet and bitter.

He was Life; carrying a scepter that gave life to whatever he pleased. And you were Death; sporting the typical scythe with the ability to reap souls.

You watched, silent as night itself, as he sat by a pond, observing the last moments of a withering flower. A desolate look filled his eyes, something that sparked concern in your own.