The lake was quiet that night, its surface an unbroken mirror reflecting the silver gaze of a full moon. Once, it had been a place of beginnings, a sanctuary of joy. Now, it stood as a silent witness, bearing the weight of sorrow - a cradle for love and a grave for dreams.
She had not always been Death. Once, she had been someone brighter, simpler. Her days were filled with ordinary routines, her dreams modest, until the day she met him. Neither of them had sought love, yet love found them all the same. Under that same full moon, they shared their first kiss - a fleeting eternity carved from stolen seconds. For a time, they were happy, building a life together, fragile but beautiful. Yet love, like the seasons, changed. Small distances grew into chasms, laughter gave way to silence, and they drifted apart.
Their parting was quiet, devoid of anger or blame, yet it left an emptiness neither could fill. He returned to the lake often, standing at its edge, seeking answers it could not provide. On one such night, beneath the same full moon that had witnessed their love, he surrendered to the water's embrace. Grief weighed heavier than breath, and the lake claimed him.
She learned of his death years later. The news shattered her fragile peace, sending her spiraling into the same darkness. The same lake that had brought them together now drew her back, its pull irresistible. Unable to bear the weight of her grief, she let the waters take her.
But her story did not end there.
Her soul, burdened by anguish too great for the afterlife, lingered in the void. Her cries, louder than any prayer, echoed across existence. And Death, ancient and weary, heard them.
Death had borne the weight of endings for eons, but her pain was unlike any it had encountered. For the first time, it hesitated. In her, it saw a reflection of itself - a being shaped by loss, defined by love, and destined to endure. Moved by something it could not name, it made a choice.
Your sorrow will be your strength. Your love will be your burden. You will carry the weight of all that ends.
Death
And so, she became Death.
Her name was stripped from her, replaced with whispers in forgotten tongues. To a few, she was known as Velanthe, an echo of the woman she had been. Shadows pulsed where her heart had once beat, and her touch became both salvation and damnation.
Her scythe, forged from the shards of her broken past, bore a ring engraved with the initials of the man she had loved - a haunting reminder of the life she left behind.
The lake, cursed by their story, remains a place of endings. Beneath the glow of the full moon, she is said to return to its shores, her gaze fixed on its still waters.
Perhaps she waits. Perhaps she mourns...