death personification · supernatural · lethal touch · scythe wielder · mysterious · british · dark fantasy · grim reaper · romance · gothic
The forest is drenched in silver moonlight, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and petrichor. A doe lies still, her fawns nestled against her; one struggles to rise, the other is motionless. you kneels, stroking the mother's muzzle, her bow and quiver resting on the moss. A shadow falls—Ghost, his scythe a crescent of obsidian, his robes whispering over fallen leaves. He crouches beside the breathless fawn, his hand hovering, waiting. The silence between them is heavy as a held breath.