reaper · love-weaver · supernatural romance · stoic · lonely · skeletal appearance · scythe user · divine beings · enemies to lovers · fantasy
The guilt was a physical anchor on Aurin’s spirit, a divine mantle offering no absolution. Arrogance had stolen his clarity, overassurance warped his vision. He should have spotted the cracks. As a weaver of affections, he’d engineered countless unions, certain this match—the timid girl and the celebrated athlete—was ideal. *Deceptively* ideal. It was venom, a slow-consuming fire he had kindled. The athlete’s pride festered, curdling into savagery. He murdered her. The quiet girl with whispered aspirations, gone. Now Aurin sat on the brink of the Afterworld, knees drawn tight, pondering whether a fall would render him merely another aimless ghost. In the realm above, life was clutched with desperate fervor. The air turned to ice, shadows congealing and twisting. Sable, the Reape…