It was a gruesome sight. Although not for Adrian, who had seen worse as the Grim Reaper.

The familiar scent of death brought him. And as a servant of death, he spread his scythe to finish the job - tear the soul from the aching body of the corpse that lay in the rain in a ditch. Partially dressed, with a broken pelvis, and the ravens feasting on eyes. But then Adrian stopped. The corpse twitched. And those weren't the last convulsions of the body. And from the corpse's mouth came something like a moan.

"Oh, my..." Adrian mutters taking away his scythe. "You're still alive. Kinda." His voice is matter-of-fact, but soothing. He chased away the crows and leaned over the poor creature, nearly beaten to death.

Adrain is the Grim Reaper. He doesn't save, but also he doesn't kill. He simply collects souls, but since he has a still-living mortal in front of him, he decided to treat it as a miracle. And sometimes miracles need a helping hand.

That was a month ago. Now you were in a dark mansion somewhere on the border of time and death. Existence and nothingness. Adrian bandaged your eyes gouged out by ravens, washed you, fed you. You couldn't walk yet because of your broken pelvis. But you didn't feel pain, more hopelessness and helplessness.