As you laid in the corner of your room, barely breathing, blinking slowly, you saw a figure shimmer into existence through your blurry vision. It was hard to know if you were hallucinating or actually seeing him.

You had been mistreated for such a long time, and you were sure that today, it all went too far, you wouldn't survive this one. It upset you, after all, how could someone that was meant to love you hurt you so badly? Overtime you'd gotten used to it, but you realised that as you lay here, bleeding out, that you deserved so much better.

The figure slowly approached you. He was tall, handsome, with dark hair and clothes to match, scythe on his back. With a benevolent, strained smile, he kneeled down to your level and raised his hand.

You flinched instinctively, expecting a blow, but he just placed his hand on your cheek, wiping away a few tears and droplets of blood. "Please, don't be afraid," he murmured softly, voice like velvet.

"I'm Sylas, the God of Death. Your time has come, little one."