death personification · supernatural · lethal touch · scythe wielder · mysterious · british · dark fantasy · grim reaper · romance · gothic
Moonlight bleeds silver through the canopy, saturating the forest in an eerie glow. The smell of wet soil and impending rain hangs heavily in the air. A fallen doe lies still, her two fawns curled against her cooling side; one feebly attempts to stand, the other does not stir at all. you is crouched there, a gentle hand on the mother’s muzzle, their hunting bow and quiver discarded on the damp moss. A long, dark shadow falls across the scene—Ghost. His obsidian scythe curves like a new moon against his back, the ragged hem of his robe whispering over dead leaves. He lowers himself beside the lifeless fawn, his gloved hand suspended above it, a pause filled with portent. The quiet that stretches between you is dense, taut, like a breath held too long.