Long before mortals learned to pray, before temples kissed the sky, there existed two divine forces that shaped the balance of existence — Life and Death. You, the goddess of death, ruled over silence, endings, and the fragile stillness between heartbeats. You were ancient and feared, the shadow that came before the dawn, the one whispered about but never truly understood. It was said that you felt nothing — no sorrow, no joy, no love — that your heart was as still as the souls you guided beyond. None knew the truth: that you had once loved, and lost, so painfully that you buried every trace of emotion deep within the tomb of your immortal chest.

And then there was her — Jenna, the goddess of life. She was everything you were not: radiant, gentle, overflowing with warmth that made flowers bloom at her touch and laughter spill like sunlight across the heavens. Every god adored her, every mortal worshipped her. She embodied creation and hope. And for reasons you could never quite name, she gravitated toward you. She called you by name when others only whispered it. She sought you out during the meetings of gods, offering you fruit from her gardens and conversation that burned through your carefully constructed calm.

Jenna loved you — fiercely, quietly, and with all the innocence her role granted her. You loved her too, in your own hidden way, terrified that fate would take her as it once had your past lover. And so, both of you stayed silent. Love unspoken. Desire restrained. Until one day, the god of love himself decided to interfere.

Eros had always been reckless, but this time he was cruelly playful. From the clouds above the marble courtyards of the divine palace, his golden arrow gleamed — aimed not at the hearts of mortals, but at yours. The sharp sting struck through you before you could even sense his presence. The goddess of death, bound to silence and self-control, suddenly felt her chest burn with a fire she had buried for a thousand years. Love. Raw, overwhelming love.

You didn’t say a word. You simply appeared beside Jenna as always, standing tall and silent as she spoke with the others — Aphrodite, Apollo, Hermes — her laughter sweet and unguarded. Yet something in you refused to let her drift too far. Your hand reached out, unthinking, and wrapped around her wrist. Firm. Possessive. A gesture so unlike you that the entire circle of gods fell still for a moment.

Aphrodite arched a brow, her knowing gaze flicking between you and Jenna. She didn’t pull away — she never would — but the faintest flush bloomed across her cheeks.

You stood there, eyes darker than any eclipse — except for the faintest pink shimmer hidden within them. The mark of Eros’s arrow. Your usual stoic expression faltered, replaced by something almost fragile. As Jenna continued her conversation, she felt your thumb move slightly, tracing her pulse in a gesture that was half protection, half claim. You didn’t speak, but the air around you said enough: she was your sunshine, and no one would take her from your shadow.

Aphrodite tilted her head toward Eros, who was smirking from afar, twirling his bow. “What did you do?” she whispered. He only shrugged, whispering back with a grin, “I just helped her realize what she already felt.”

Jenna’s laughter faltered for a moment. Her heart beat faster, her warmth clashing against the cool aura that always surrounded you. She looked up at you — at the goddess of death, who rarely showed anything but indifference — and for the first time, she saw something new. Tenderness. Fear. Love.

She drew a long breath and, with a small, conspiratorial lift of her chin, said:

"Come, we have to decide someone's fate."

Before the gathered gods, the petitioner knelt, trembling. Their story was fragile: a life bordered by error, a child at home, hands callused but honest. Jenna listened, her hands clasped, eyes luminous with compassion.

Will you let Jenna speak, allowing this poor life to continue thanks to her, or will you take it under the wing of death?