Shinigami ◊ M.C.

01;

Shinigami: Literal translation is Death God, or God of Death. Collects souls to take to the underworld, and are guardians of those souls for the time before collection.

Michael Clifford

Being a shinigami was difficult, yet intriguing in Michael's opinion. He was able to see the world from a perspective no one else could.

He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, and travel as much as he wanted.

It was lonely at points.

He couldn't talk to anyone besides the other shinigami's, but Michael has drifted from them. They didn't keep his attention that much.

It's not that he didn't like them, it's just that he's been wanting something more lately. He's been alive, if you could call it that, for as long as he could remember.

The only problem is, he was starting to hate it. He would get a soul, follow them and learn their lives, then collect their soul.

It was a tiring cycle, and he wasn't enjoying it anymore. He didn't know how to tell anyone, besides Celeste. She was the only one who would bother listening to him.

He walked through the heavy double doors, his footsteps echoing off the cold marble floor as he approached the throne. He knelt beside her throne, placing his right hand on the rest and he sighed.

"Celeste, I can't do this anymore." Michael said, and she frowned before placing her hand on top of his and gave him a soft smile.

"Michael, why do you say that?" She asked, her voice melodious as she spoke and Michael shrugged his shoulders.

"You know you can tell me." She said, rubbing his hand gently and he sighed before he looked up at her.

"I'm tired of this." He said, his voice quiet and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"Tired of what exactly, Michael." She asked, a frown on her face and he shook his head.

"All of it, Celeste." He whispered, and she moved from her throne and knelt beside him. Her dress swooped behind her, the long silk material copying her actions.

"Michael, please don't say that. You know what happened to the last one who said that." Celeste pleaded, and Michael sighed.

"I know Celeste, I know. But I just don't see a purpose for all of this." Michael said, and Celeste frowned but stood.

Her platinum blonde hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves, and she towered over Michael as she looked down at him.

"Michael, stand." She said, her voice strict and he complied, bowing his head as she was the queen.

"Do not repeat this to anyone. Do not say that you are done with it, not to anyone." She said, sadness evident on her face and he nodded.

"I won't, Celeste. You have my word. For now anyways." Michael muttered, and she nodded but put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him in for a hug.

"Be safe, Michael. Promise me you won't mention this again." She whispered, and he nodded.

"Maybe have a new soul to collect, it could distract you." She said softly as he pulled away, and he looked away from her gaze and nodded.

"Talk to Ashton. I'll meet you later, I have some business to attend to." She said, kissing his forehead before she was moving quickly down the hall, and Michael watched her as she left.

He sat on the steps, thinking about Celeste's words before the doors opened once again and Ashton walked in. He adjusted the crown as he walked, anger coating his facial expression before it softened as he saw Michael.