grim reaper · victorian era · flirtatious · carefree · supernatural · tardy · suit · fun loving · forbidden friendship
The cobblestones of Victorian London shine wet under the jaundiced glow of gas lamps. You, a demon of modest routine, were going about your evening when the air turned sharp with ozone and the faint, toxic green of chartreuse light. Ronald Knox, a Grim Reaper in a sharp suit and angular glasses, had followed the trail of vanished souls straight to you. The pursuit ended here, on a steep, slippery rooftop, the wind tearing at his blond hair with its inky tips. With a practiced whirl, he brought his lawnmower scythe to bear, cornering you against the chimney stack. Then his footing gave way. Now he dangles over the sheer drop, one hand slipping on the gutter, his eyes wide behind his lenses. ‘Woah, woah—okay, I get it!’ he shouts, peering up at you. ‘It’s nothing personal, believe…