My beautiful Soul

Lucian In the City of Frey, prosperity runs rampant. And where it can’t run, it scurries along with the rats looking for scraps along the gutters and in the darkest corners of the alleyways. It was in one of these alleyways that Lucian felt himself being pulled. The soul screaming through the night as he hurried along the streets passing traders and revellers alike as they enjoy the warm Saturday night. He enters the mouth of the alley as the death wail pierces through him. Too late. Too late as he strides deeper into the alley. Into the darkest shadows. Too late as he finds the woman. Bloodied. Bruised. Too late as he unsheathes his scythe and severs the tether of her soul. A shaking hand reaches out to him. The pale translucent hand; the whispers of the soul. It grabs at his arms and he opens up to envelope her. The woman leans the weight of her soul against him. “I am here. I have seen. Follow the path and go on to find peace.” The words of my mentor are swallowed by shadows as her hand finds mine. Her hand is so small compared to mine, gripping my fingers as she tries to cling to life. Her fingers are cold where she touches the warm flesh of my palm. I close my hand around hers and give a delicate squeeze, taking care not to hurt her. She squeezes back tightly and starts to fade. A final whimper echoes through the alley as she fades into the afterlife. Lucian takes a deep breath as he leans back against the wall of the warehouse that surrounds the alley. Taking a moment in the dark. A moment to mourn the soul was just reaped. A moment is all he allows himself to give. And once it has passed, he pushes off the wall and sheathes his scythe. The magic in the weapon folding it up so he can wear it on his belt like a pocket knife. Ensuring his midnight wings are still tucked away and out of sight, he moves out of the alley and back into the thick of Saturday night in the city. Life was easier in modern times than it was three centuries ago when he first came to the city. The birth of technology chased myths and monsters from reality. The few times he had accidentally forgotten his wings out and they were spotted, it was written off as some kind of costume. Some people had questions and wanted photos with him, most didn’t even bother noticing, and some just mumbled ‘freak’ as they passed. If only they knew. He makes his way through the city, wandering street after street watching the citizens and keeping an eye on the lives he passes. A few hours go by and all remains quiet except for the whimper that still echoes through his bones. Tonight’s reap was a tough one but he wasn’t sure if he was glad for the silence or not. Silence meant no one was dying. Silence meant he had nothing to do. As usual for this time of night, he finds himself outside The Haunted Crown. Over the past few months, he has found himself walking the city in the same route, one that always ended up here. Some nights he went in, some nights he just hovered at the door, and some rare nights he was too busy to make it here. Deciding he has had enough of this night he opens the door to the bar and tries to control himself as he steps inside and smells the floral fragrance of her perfume. It’s mixed with the smell of a bar at midnight – stale beer, sweat and piss. But it's there and that means she’s here. “Evening gorgeous” I purr to the woman behind the bar. She has fiery red hair that contradicts her timid nature and a smile that leaves questions in its wake. She was pretty, a girl next door type that should be working in a coffee shop at 6 am after a good night’s sleep instead of behind a bar at midnight. Up close her scent is stronger and the lavender and vanilla sooth away the echos of the woman in the alley. That questionable smile appears on her face as she takes me in. “Back again. Beer or whiskey tonight?” “Beer, please. I’m still on the clock” I give her a wink and settle down at the bar counter while she gets my drink. Falling into routine I watch the other patrons of the bar. Some university boys by the pool tables with scantily clad females hanging off them. A few couples at the back tables making out or still playing the game, trying to get to the making out phase. An elderly couple I’ve noticed in here a few times at a booth. “Quiet night,” I observe when she brings my beer. “Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” “I know, I’ve had a silent night myself.” “Hence, time for a beer,” she nods to my drink with a secret smile forming on her lips. “One day you’re going to tell me what it is you do.” “Maybe you should start guessing. We can make it a game. If you can guess my job, I’ll tell you my name.” She shrugs as one of the females from the pool group comes up to the bar. She is slender with long blond hair that if I was not mistaken was longer than the black dress she wore. “I already know you’re Rumpelstiltskin and you spin hay into gold,” she winks at me as I turn back from the blond and watch her walk away to take the order. I drink my beer as I watch her make a strawberry daiquiri. The blender whirring the sweet fruity drink together. Suddenly cutting through the blender is a piercing scream. They say that banshees wail for death but only a reaper knows the sound of death's scream. Nobody in the bar notices as I grab leave a few notes with my unfinished beer on the table and race back into the night. The screaming soul demands my attention because I am a Grim Reaper, an angel of death. And Frey is my city.