Emily’s POV
Since being diagnosed, I accept the inevitable.
Slumber for eternity.
An endless uncertainty.
The concept of death has stirred up fears, conspiracies, and myths.
Our thoughts become overwhelmed by them.
As a result, we ask ourselves questions about our mortality.
When I die, where will I end up? Is there a heaven, hell, or an alternative plane? Is it possible to be born again?
Death is something we will succumb to despite being ready or not.
I believe we will be decided on our fate by the arbiters of death.
Live your life to the fullest, but make one grave mistake, and you will lose your soul.
Souls are gleaned by the collector who wields a weapon.
The reaper and his scythe.
Thinking back to meeting Derek, I remember his odd reaction when I told him I’m gradually dying.
With a small grin, he asked, “Emi, are you afraid?”
“No, I am not.”
“Why?” he moved closer to me.
“Because this is my reality... I may not have a cure for my disease, but at least I can control my reaction to the outcome.”
He remained silent in response. Instead, he laid a single hand on my lap and nodded in agreement with my demise.
Despite knowing I had zero chances, people kept encouraging me to keep on living. Which was a load of crap. It was comforting to meet someone like Derek, who didn’t talk about miracles.
In all the years I’ve known Derek, he never urged me to fight for survival. He understood I knew there was nothing to fight for.
We acknowledged it for what it was, or was I damn naïve?
There was something he hid from me.
His collection.
I found his wall full of masks.
It spanned much further than that.
Their skinned faces were hanging in the shadows behind our bedroom wall. A dozen bloodshot eyes stared at me from every angle.
On top of all the masks was written in red, “All were scared but one.”
Was this a game for him... playing with life and death?
Maybe this was my chance to have someone end it all for me.
It was just a dream.
The aroma of warm pancakes and coffee had woken me up. Glancing over, I saw an empty space beside me.
I heard Derek’s voice coming from the kitchen. He was calling me to come over to him.
But I felt something else.
Someone was reaching towards me, screaming for us, and summoning Derek.
That nightmare seemed all too real; the walls, their faces, and those eyes leering into mine.
When I walked into the kitchen and met Derek at the counter, I noticed his agitated expression, fiddling fingers, and his cracked smile.
Derek mentioned he had something for me to help with my tiredness, but I told him not to worry about it.
Although, what he said was surprising because he never seemed concerned about my disease. Since we knew nothing would work to treat my condition, so he avoided the topic.
He had made me coffee that tasted delicious and warm every time I gulped it down.
As time passed, Derek’s pacing grew increasingly restless.
What is he doing? What was he thinking?
My chest tightened as I dropped my coffee and felt that wave of dread.
Derek had his back to me as he headed towards the living room. I tried to scream, and nothing came out but a single tear streaming down my cheek.
I fell hard on the floor, senses fading, and Derek never glanced back. Not once.
I silently cursed at him, daring him to turn around.
Darling, stare into the eyes of your masterpiece.
Face me, the one who wasn’t scared, you bastard.
Your true love.
Scythe’s POV
“He kept telling himself that one day it would somehow make sense. While she had a difficult time owning up to her crazy self.”
Reaper laughed, “What a match made in hell!”
<To be continued>
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