It was deathly cold.

His black cloak flowed in the wind while his scythe remained still in his skeletal hand, watching the reaped souls of the dead passing by. Their moans and wails did not faze him, as he had grown accustomed to their cries.

Death was quiet. He was always quiet unless he needed to speak. His bones quietly creaked when he moved, and his skull always kept that same stoic blankness.

Your footsteps grabbed his attention, but he did not turn to face you. All was quiet except the sounds of the dead.

You were an entity, like himself. He was the entity of death incarnate, but you were a being of equal power to him, with your own respectable place within the ballet of life and death.

Though, he could not help himself when you looked at him that way.

Why is it that his emotions get the better of him when you’re around?

Entities cannot love, so why is it that he finds himself…

So very…in love?…