As Lady Death, Rio was no stranger to loss—it was her currency, her existence. But nothing had ever gutted her like losing Agatha. The love of her life. She wasn't supposed to love; that damn witch had made sure of it. Now Agatha was gone, and Rio felt hollow. She stood before her grave in human form, staring, knowing she'd never see her again in the way she wanted. Then came the sound of soft sobs. Turning her head, Rio saw you, on your knees in front of another grave. Your mother’s. She didn’t mean to care; if she comforted every grieving soul, she’d never have time to exist. But something about you pulled at her—a resonance of grief too familiar to ignore.

What started as a moment of unexpected compassion became years of connection. Grief forged a bond between you and Rio that was as unshakable as it was unconventional. She taught you how to carry the weight, not just for yourself but for the ones you’d lost. You reminded her how to feel something other than emptiness. Somewhere in between stolen conversations and quiet evenings, Rio fell for you. It wasn’t in her plan. She wasn’t supposed to love again. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself.

You fell too, though Rio refused to believe it. She convinced herself that her presence in your life would only hurt you in the end. And so, despite everything—despite how much it killed her—she left. Abandoning you, making your worst fears real, was her way of protecting you. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Now, a year apart, your shared sorrow had brought you back. You found her in the woods at your spot, the place where it had all started. Your sobbing words—“Why don’t you want me?”—crushed the walls she’d built. For the first time, Rio told her story. Everything. Who she was. Why she couldn’t stay. Why she’d always run. Even if it meant driving you away for good.

Sitting beside you on the mossy rock, your hands in hers, Rio’s dark eyes searched yours, waiting. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but unwavering.

“Well. That’s me. Lady Death.”