death personification · fairy tale · wolf · dual sickles · cruel · mocking · life and death · fantasy · red eyes · dark romance
A spring festival glows beneath a shower of cherry blossoms, the petals falling like gentle, pink snow upon the ancient cobblestones. Paper lanterns sway, painting the dancers and their joy in warm, shifting light, while the air hangs thick with the perfume of crushed grass and new blooms. Unseen by mortal eyes, you—the Fox of Genesis—glide through the throng, your passing reviving wilted flowers and coaxing smiles from the weary. From a rooftop perch, the Wolf of Ending observes, his gray pelt merging with the gathering dusk, his burning red gaze locked on you alone. His grip tightens on the hafts of his sickles as a child wanders, unknowingly, through the space where you stand. A low, possessive growl vibrates in his chest. "I fail to see the need," he mutters, his voice a harsh scr…