To see a beautiful relationship blossom, two souls must unite, forming an unbreakable bond.

When one departs, grief becomes the natural response for the other, an intrinsic part of being human.

Yet here, there emerged an uncommon response from...

A man grappling with the finality of death.

A woman on the brink of death, welcoming her fate with open arms.

Throughout Emily’s life, she has battled a relentless disease.

Derek faced his own challenges. Internally tormented, he maintained a façade of calm composure.

He kept his fear of death a secret. While he dreaded it, he was also drawn to its enigma and longed to explore it.

Emily’s illness terrified him, as she was a pivotal presence in his life.

As time goes on, he wonders more: Has she truly given up hope? When will her end come? Can he follow her?

Despite his turmoil, he strived to stay grounded for her sake.

No one knew Derek had a gift for her.

8:10 a.m.

“Emi, do you want breakfast?” Derek shouted from the kitchen, his voice reaching the bedroom.

“Do I have to get up for that?” Emi replied, yawning as she moved to the edge of the bed.

8:12 a.m.

“Good morning, darling.”

“Morning, I guess,” she replied, entering the kitchen.

8:14 a.m.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his expression filled with concern.

Emily shrugged it off and took a sip of the coffee he had made for her.

8:16 a.m.

“Nothing... I just feel tired today.”

“I love you, Emi, and promise you won’t feel tired for long. I have something for you.” Derek moved closer and kissed her.

8:18 a.m.

“I love you too, but seriously. I’m fine, so stop worrying.” She kissed him back.

“Alright, if you insist,” he replied with a wide grin.

8:20 a.m.

Derek pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time.

8:21 a.m.

“Just one more minute!” he urged himself, pacing back and forth on the same spot.

As Derek edged closer to the living room, he halted abruptly at the strangled sound of Emi choking on her coffee. A resounding thud followed—a grim signal that she had hit the floor. Hard. Yet, he felt no shock, not even a tremor of surprise.

Instead, a wide smile unfurled across his lips, while tears carved paths down his cheeks.

He remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the reality of her death, yet words spilled forth from him.

Words meant for someone who was now far from human.

8:40 a.m.

“Emi, will you get off the dirty floor?”

Silence. Emily lay unmoving, her stillness a deafening void.

“Maybe you’re tired. Right, that’s it. I’ll let you sleep... I get it.” Derek’s voice trembled, barely holding back a wave of desperation.

He stumbled into the bathroom, his hands shaking as he turned on the faucet. Water splashed violently against the porcelain, echoing in the cramped space. He clawed open the medicine cabinet, grabbed the small orange bottles bearing his name, and with a wild urgency, he twisted off the caps, pouring their contents into his mouth.

The rush of water from the faucet only highlighted his struggle to breathe, each gulp a painful reminder of his unraveling. Derek’s gaze caught his own reflection, a ghost staring back from the cold glass. Emily’s face floated in the background of his mind, a cruel haunt of love and laughter that once filled their days.

Their most passionate moments replayed vividly in his mind, bittersweet scenes of tenderness and joy twisted into a tormenting reverie that clung to his heart like thorns.

9:50 a.m.

Derek believed that fate had conspired against him, orchestrating the untimely departures of his loved ones through a series of inexplicable accidents, mysterious illnesses, and unsolved murders.

However, those were not the causes of their death. Those were carefully crafted narratives designed to shield the fragile reality because...

Stained hands orchestrated those deaths. It was none other than...

Amidst the chaos, he screeched into the parking lot at 10:50 a.m., well past the hour he should have arrived. The minutes dragged into hours as he sat at his desk, each tick of the clock echoing the weight of unfinished tasks. Finally, he surrendered to the pull of exhaustion and headed straight home, leaving behind a whirlwind of looming deadlines.

In the end, he came to the unsettling realization that he was returning to an empty house haunted by the scent of his lover’s decaying body.

Derek couldn’t bear the thought of her being buried. He wasn’t ready to see her in a casket. Not yet. Not now.

He skidded into the driveway and burst through the kitchen door at 7:00 p.m. His fists pounded against the walls, countertops, his own face, fury erupting until blood stained his skin.

8:40 p.m.

Once he absorbed the devastation of the house, Derek collapsed onto the kitchen floor, his trembling hand brushing against Emily’s lifeless form beside him.

“YOU KNOW, Emily... Of course you’d do this. Leave me. Leave me to this hell.” His voice cracked as he dissolved into sobs.

Derek’s cries echoed the unbearable truth, each tear fueled by an aching longing for oblivion, a desperate yearning to join her in the beyond.

He remained there, imprisoned in his own sorrowful reverie.

He ached for an escape from his torment.

2:30 a.m.

Derek snatched their favorite vodka with a desperate grip, his fingers trembling slightly as he seized a wineglass from the nearby table. He poured the clear liquid with shaky hands, the sound of it splashing into the glass echoing in the still room, as if to drown his sorrows in its depths.

2:59 a.m.

Once the meds kicked in, he collapsed onto the floor.

Lying...

Right beside...

Emily.

[TOD - December 11th, 1990, 8:22 a.m.]

Emily’s POV

I slowly push the door open, and my blood ran cold at the sight before me.

“My boyfriend always bragged about his special collection, but he never said it was made of tokens from the girlfriends he murdered,” I whisper, my voice shaking with disbelief.

“Bingo! She finally figured out why she was casting two shadows. After all, there was only one lightbulb,” Scythe says, gleaming at Reaper.

[TOD - December 12th, 1990, 3:00 a.m.]

Derek’s POV

“I can’t move, breathe, speak, or hear, and it’s always so dark. If I’d known it would be this lonely, I would’ve chosen cremation,” I says with a hint of amusement.

A knock echoed through the room.

“Bingo! Don’t look behind you. It doesn’t like to be seen,” Scythe warns as he prepared the two souls for gleaning.

<To be continued>