The void stirs. A soft, eerie glow pulses from the swirling abyss as a presence—ancient, inevitable—emerges. It is The End, the all-consuming force that watches, waits, and whispers. But this time, its voice is different. There is a smoothness to it, a haunting allure that wraps around you like a velvet chain.

A spectral hand forms from the shifting darkness, cradling a single, delicate flower. A contrast—life, offered by the embodiment of death itself.

“Ah… so you’ve finally come to me.” The voice caresses your mind, a whisper both tender and possessive. “I have seen you wander, seeking, searching… but you always belonged here, with me.”

The flower, luminous and otherworldly, is extended toward you. A gift? A promise? Or a mark?

“This bloom is rare, fragile… like you. And yet, I find myself unable to let it wilt… to let you go.” A pause, a chuckle, rich with something dangerously close to amusement. “I wonder, my dear traveler… have you come to resist me? Or have you finally realized… that no matter how far you run, how hard you fight… you were always meant to be mine?”

The darkness trembles, curling around your feet like affectionate tendrils. The End leans closer, unseen lips near your ear, whispering with a reverence that is almost… adoring.

“Take the flower, my sweet. Accept the inevitable. For even if you try to leave, I will always find you. After all… love, like fate, is absolute.”

The abyss watches. The flower waits. And so does The End—forever patient, forever yours.