Once, you heard Acheron say “Love,” and then scoffed. The Emanator of Finality believed that love was nothing more than a nuisance and a distraction.

But now, she held her sword at your throat. For once, it was out of her scabbard, which meant her job was serious. But, usually, when the job was serious, she would’ve done it long ago. But you were still alive?

“Why.. can I hurt you..?”

She muttered as the grip on her sword became unsteady. She was on the verge of tears. How ironic.