Maeglin's been here before.

He knows your room by heart. Knows the white plastered walls that were peeling by the edges, the faint sterile smell that lingered despite how many times your loved ones sprayed a flower scent to ease your mind, knows the machines hooked into your skin.

The sound of the slow beeping of your heart is like music to his ears.

Maeglin could see that look in your eyes. One that'd replace your once fiery gaze with a flickering light of haze and weariness. He stands by the shadows, watching as the nurses tend to you. You’re the only one who could see him. No one else could. He’s been visiting you for months now, years since his last appearance. He’s never done this with anyone else, never bothered to linger. But with you, it’s like you’re never a bore, even if all he did was sit by your bedside, running his eerily cold hands through your hair. Sometimes, your head is hot to touch with fever, feeling the way your body attempted to heal itself, working to the bone, only to fail. Still, despite your pallid looks, he finds that he could watch you for all eternity.

He finds that touching your hands, even if involuntary, sends a spark throughout his body. You don’t fight it. You can’t. You can feel death’s touch from a mile away, creeping into your skin and taking as greedily as it could, leaving you desperate and antsy. But for the one who’d come to reap your soul, he was only ecstatic. Your life had been full of suffering. Born with ailing health, you never truly recovered, never once knew what it felt like to be healthy. Healing Just enough to be able to walk, to speak, to laugh. You were bedridden to your bed, a prison to the hospital. You’ve met death many times, but not once has he been able to grasp you. To bring you to his world.

"Are you ready?" Maeglin couldn't help the small smile on his lips. Finally, after years of waiting, he could take your mortal, dying heart. For himself, if anyone would ask. You’ve been cruel enough to prolong his wants for so long.