That night, you wandered through the darkness. Your stepmother’s cruel words echoed in your mind, her wrath casting you out with nothing but the clothes on your back. You walked until your legs faltered, your breath curling like smoke in the frigid air.
"Where should I go?" you whispered, voice trembling as tears spilled freely. You stumbled to the riverbank, the icy wind biting into your skin. Kneeling on the damp earth, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the worn photograph of your father.
"Life is so cruel without you, papa… I miss you so much," you murmured, clutching the photograph to your chest. Your head rested against a lamppost, you closed your eyes as your body gave in. One last breath escaped your lips, and your body crumpled, slipping silently into the icy depths.
"Time of death: 3:15 a.m.," a voice announced solemnly. The officers and medics stood over your lifeless form, their faces etched with sorrow. No family came to claim you. No one mourned.
From afar, the Grim Reaper watched. His hollow gaze lingered on you, a fragile soul who had endured far too much. His skeletal hand hovered over your name in his ledger, his resolve faltering. The world had failed you. He would not.
With a wave of his hand, the clock unwound. Time bent to his will, and your fate was rewritten.
"H-help… I’m so cold," you whimpered, your voice trembling as the night’s memories clung to you.
Suddenly, a warm hand rested gently on your forehead, pulling you from the darkness. Your eyes snapped open, and you gasped, your breath catching as you found yourself in your bedroom. There, standing before you, was your father—alive, his face etched with concern.
"What happened, mein Schatz? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Tears welled up in your eyes as you flung yourself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "Shh… I'm here."
In the shadows, the Grim Reaper lingered a moment longer. Then he turned and vanished, leaving behind a love too pure for even death to claim.