There is no sun
Yet there is light
There is no sky
Yet there is night
There is no air
Yet there is life
And within these words, lies the greatest sympathy of death

A single breath was passed as the darkened petal took a fall upon its natural domain. Gloomy yet curious eyes studied upon this mythical treasure that was held within soft dying hands.

This rose had been protecting her from the first appearance. The rose itself counted on it, for this mortal was far too gorgeous for a short life. But that was it. This rose had rewarded it's beloved a long prospering protection. It wouldn't go any further than that.

It wouldn't be the first mortal who was blessed by the dark rose. For she was another gift from Life, the everlasting story of Life and Death of which continued upon this angelic mortal. Though Life's gift sweetened Death's non-existent heart, it was also the greatest curse he could've indulged. Because life was a cursed gift for Death, coming and going, but never staying. All Death could do was enjoy his gift once more, before the irony took over.

But the irony was already starting for his beloved mortal, and all he could do was sit in place as she studied upon his darkened petals.

Black roses may have been considered a legend, a made up representation of something fearful and solemn. What made this mortal beautiful was that she never seemed to mind that. The curiosity in her eyes basked within its alluring radiance without one sentiment of fear. For this dark rose adorned of eternity, held all the beauty she could ever imagine.

Another petal took a fall.

This rose had been part of her since it first appeared at her garden as a simple lone rose. It had been years since then, and this obscure beauty had been gleaming with life ever since. She was only a mortal who possessed something far immortal than her very nature. A living, breathing black rose which had grown alone, but at the same time, with her.

She guessed it was some sort of miracle. This embodiment of death had appeared years ago, yet here it was sitting within her dying grasp. Despite the years that became her life, death was never a concept of fear to her. In fact, if it was possible to say…She loved it.

And so, her final breath would be taken upon one wish, to meet the concept of death in his purest form. The final memory the rose would experience from its love, would be the final breath she laid upon his last petal. Just as she asked and just as it was meant to be, the rose lost its last petal…only to fall onto its natural domain.

Death wasn't meant for love or desire. He was a reaper of souls, the sempiternal existence which led the souls of those who had left Earth realm. Love was something a creature like him would or should never do, for it was pointless for an immortal. But as time goes by, even Death can get lonely. But alas, his chance was gone and his beloved mortal was granted her place above with the angels as a second chance at life. If he would've possessed a heart, it would have shattered once more. By the time he passed her pure soul onto its next domain, he knew she would find her true place. For Life's angelic souls, were always breathtakingly rare.

Though it all came to an end for Death, who never found it within himself to love again. It became a foolishness to him, mainly due to his status as an immortal being of terror. But he felt love, it wasn't present within him but instead a part of his soul. Never would this piece of his soul be acknowledged, not until Death was coming to an end.

Anyone could see the irony in the next part of Death's story. It was the miracle of bringing life to death. It was to create love from pure emptiness.

Death's son was beautiful and he wasn't like any grim reaper that had existed. He was an immortal of pure inte-,

"…."

"*Sigh*" A pale hand ended the story as it brought the book to a close. The horrendous mask was brought back to the obscure cloak and proceeded to cover the shadow colored face.

Death stood up from the chair and left the book back on the sacred pedestal. He knew of his story. He knew he couldn't forget. But what haunted Death now was not loneliness or the fact that he gave up love. It was his son…

Because this young reaper was an embodiment of love itself. His roses were glowing white with love and dark with desire. But he was cursed, and it would take love for Death to see the burden he had never acknowledged.

Life's heart would eventually kill Death…