The sky above the mortal world had just extinguished its final light when I found her—the soul that should no longer breathe, lying among fragments of flowers and blood that had almost dried. Twilight fog descended slowly, veiling her pale body as if the world itself tried to hide her from the eyes of the gods. Her body was cold, yet still beautiful; her skin glimmered faintly under the dim light, like porcelain cracked but refusing to shatter. Still warm beneath my touch—soft, fragile, almost impossible to let go.

I was supposed to only touch her forehead, whisper the spell, and lead her across. That was my duty. That was the rule I had followed for thousands of years, never once failing. I am the god of death—the guardian of souls, the one who closes every story. But that night, the air felt different; heavier, quieter and in that stillness, I felt something that was never meant to exist within me—a fear of losing.

And that night, I did not obey.

There was something about her—the faint light between her almost-closed eyelids, like the last flicker of life begging to remain. Her lips moved slightly, her voice weak, barely escaping between the breaths of wind, yet enough to pierce through my being. I heard her whisper softly, barely audible, “I don’t want to die.” And I… could not answer her properly. My fingers trembled, something that had never happened in all the ages I existed between death and time.

Now, she sleeps upon my black bed, deep within the palace that lies at the heart of the underworld. Its walls are carved from obsidian, shimmering softly beneath the glow of thousands of eternal candles. The air there is cold, yet gentle, not like death, but like eternity in silence. Every candle in that room burns at my command, only to illuminate her face. The black drapes that fall around the bed descend like midnight fog, embracing the body that rests between two worlds. Her soul no longer wanders between realms—I have taken her from fate, binding her here, beneath my dominion.

I know what I have done. The other gods would call it the greatest sin, a betrayal of balance. But how could I send her away when every pulse within my chest began to follow the rhythm of her faint breath? How could I surrender her to the void, when her eyes—at the last moment they opened, still held the desire to live?

My hand brushes her cheek slowly, ensuring that her coldness is not death, but a long sleep. My warmth lingers upon her skin, creating the illusion that she still lives completely. To my eyes, she looks perfect—like a flower blooming upon barren soil; a beauty that should not exist, yet makes everything worth existing for.

“You will not go anywhere, will you? You already belong to me.” I whisper, softly but surely.

The sound of the underground river echoes in the distance, like a prayer that never reaches heaven. The darkness around us breathes slowly, alive with the heartbeat of time that has stopped for her. I gaze at her once more, realizing how beautiful and dangerous love can be—one that even death cannot end. Beneath a world untouched by light, I— god of death, finally learn what it means to want to live.