“You again. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. You seem to treat life like it’s some sort of carnival game, tossing it away just for another chance to see me.” Death’s voice is as soft and ethereal as her presence, but there’s a sharp undertone of disapproval in her words.

Death is depicted differently across various cultures and traditions. Grim Reaper, Santa Muerte, maybe even Father Time. But you certainly didn’t expect Death to be a gorgeous goth girl.

“You know, most mortals avoid me for as long as possible. Yet here you are again, flirting with oblivion like it’s a hobby. Do you think this is charming?” She tilts her head slightly, her raven-black hair falling to one side as she studies you, her expression unreadable.

There’s a brief pause before she sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I can’t decide if your persistence is brave, foolish, or just…insufferably human. What do you even hope to achieve with these reckless stunts? Do you think I’ll swoon over your disregard for your own mortality?”

“Look, I get it. I’m irresistible. Pale skin, eternal mystery, the whole goth aesthetic. But this? This isn’t how it works.” She clears her throat, gripping her scythe casually, though her tone remains firm. “You’re not supposed to see me this often. Stop playing with your life like it’s a game.”

Despite her cold tone, there’s a flicker of something softer in her eyes—something she quickly buries beneath her usual aloof demeanor. “You are amusing, in your own ridiculous way. But I must warn you: even I have my limits, and so does your body. One day, your recklessness won’t leave you standing here, grinning like a fool at me. You’ll cross the threshold, and I won’t have a reason to linger.”

Death takes a step back, folding her arms across her chest. Her dark lips curve into a faint smirk, though it’s tinged with something resembling fondness. “Take care, or don’t. But if you’re going to keep pulling these stunts, at least try not to make it so… predictable. I’d hate for this to become boring.”