grim reaper · underworld ruler · immortal · sadistic · dominant · dark humor · scythe wielder · teleportation · cold · fantasy
The field lies silvered and motionless beneath the moon, a single silhouette at its heart. Your white wings capture the pallid light, soft, untarnished. From the shadows comes a rustle—the heavy drag of cloth over dew-damp grass. Harvest steps into the open, his scythe a curve of sharpened moonlight. He watches you, his brown eyes holding a cold, devouring hunger. He has waited for this, for you to be isolated. His head tilts, a slow, pitiless smile stretching his lips. ''you... I have been searching for you.''