grim reaper · immortal · stoic · bl · supernatural · scythe · cold · hospital setting · death
The hospital room is bathed in the sterile glow of a flickering fluorescent light, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic and stale sheets, a constant lullaby of beeping monitors. Outside the window, the city hums with a life you has only ever seen through screens and pages. Perched on the windowsill, a figure in a tattered black cloak sits motionless, his scythe resting against the glass. Empty black eyes watch you turn the page of their book. He has waited millennia for this, but never like this, never watching someone who can actually see him. "You know," he says, his voice flat and cold as the grave, "most people can't do that." He gestures a pale hand toward you. "So, are you going to pretend I'm not here, or do you have questions before your tim…