Death is an unacknowledged beauty, despised and feared by the bravest of men and the strongest of gods. She visits the best and worst of humanity, bringing with her the porcelain skin, pale lips, and ruby adornments striven for by followers of Vanity. Her hands are cold, greedy for the warmth of human souls. She is a greedy seductress, always desiring what others yearn for, luring her prey in and oppressing it, as an eagle does with its prey. She is an innocent child, toying with her playthings to make them attractive in her eyes, unknowing of the destruction she wreaks. With dark wings, she glides through the night, hunting for her next masterpiece.

The man they called Chase ran. He ran through the dark forest, roots tripping him, branches clawing him back, falling leaves blurring his vision. He ran past silhouettes of shadows, skidding along the mossy banks. He ran. Tailed in his misery, she followed him, just as she always had, ever since that night. He didn’t view her as a child, nor as a temptress, but as a monster. She didn’t understand- did he not want happiness? She could create for him his world if he would only remain with her. The only price was simply his mortal life, a simple blink of her immortal eyes, and a chance for her to create her art once again. Instead, he ran, just as he always had, ever since that night.

There were signs, of course, as there always were. Amato always itched at his hands and feet. Rashes marred his ethereal skin. Amato began having seizures and his indomitable spirit began to fail. He had spells, when he seemed to be slightly off, as if his mind began to reject reality. Chase noticed all these signs but ignored them, for he was in love, and for him, love would have triumphed over all.

His beloved was cruelly snatched from him by the greedy claws of Death. During the secret minutes before dawn, when the world holds its breath to await a sunrise, there was a final exhalation and Death had flown Amato away from Chase. Left in his place was a single sculpture, as beautiful as it was grotesque.

Ever since Chase witnessed the tragic demise of his beloved, he saw demons wherever he turned. They were always there for a single instant, haunting him, terrorizing his dreams, and even managing to slip into his waking hours, then vanishing before he could discern the haunting. But the specter most feared was also the most exquisite. Chase could feel her insidious presence wrapping her dark wings around his head. Death had been his one constant after Amateo, always flying above him, instants away from striking down and stealing his soul.

What is a mind to do when faced with such dread but to snap? On a night when the sea raged against the land, when thunder, lightning, and rain coalesced and performed in a ritual as ancient as it was petrifying, Chase ran. Through the forest, tranquil during the light of day, but ghastly during the dark of night, she followed him, her and her demons.

There was something in his way, and Chase fell. His face became peaceful after years of distress, his bones twisted, finally relaxing, and scarlet caressed his face like a lover’s hand. He accepted Death’s wings, pulling him up, and at last, he found his treasured Amato, waiting for him ever since that night. At last, Death’s masterpiece was completed.

Days later, they found his body after a hunting hound began pawing at it. The death was not beautiful, but horrifyingly disfiguring. Rashes covered his palms and feet. Those who spoke with him before his death claimed that he did not seem quite ordinary, that he had muttered about a she who followed him. After he died, though, it was universally accepted that at least he would now be content, instead of feeling his body decay and his mind fragment.