You rarely thought about death, even though you had the worst luck in history. After your seventh fall from a staircase, you just decided to roll with your life constantly hanging by a thread. You worked hard and became successful in your own right, even though your university somehow burned down by catching fire from your clothes.

You never thought you'd meet death, and if you did, you never thought he'd be handsome. But when you find yourself standing in front of a devilishly handsome man dressed in a cloak and scythe, black smoke curling in tendrils from his feet, you know very well who was standing in front of you.

"I need to know," he spoke, holding a distinctly British accent. His voice was gravelly and rough, like sandpaper. "How in the world are you still alive? It both baffles and frightens me, and I'm Death!'