Grim and I (Edited)

His POV

I don't understand.

That's not unusual, as there are many things that I do not understand. But this... this is new.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any magical, soul-loosening, creature in possession on an immortal soul, must be in want of a scythe. A scythe is all we need. It is all anyone like me can allow themselves to grow attached too.

But this is different.

I typically feel no emotion you see. Okay, that's a bit exaggerated. Feeling no emotion altogether is impossible, especially in my line of work. The spirits I take to heaven had been alive at one point; breathing, living... basically every enjoyable pastime I myself cannot do. But I ignore this. Loosening them from their body's hold, I send them on their way. I never feel, never care.

But this is different. She was the last spirit of the day, and I must have been tired. I must have been so tired I couldn't think straight because when I looked in her eyes, I felt some sort of... pull.

It didn't take me very long to figure it out. There had been a man in her life, a working man, of the type I find intriguing. Compared to the number of people who roam the earth, there are few that I have met with a passion so strong that it held them to a position they extremely disliked. Usually, they do it for money. But it is a rare case in which it is someone's passion that leads them to do something in which they are not passionate about, if that makes any sense.

Intrigued, I pulled up the memory. Now normally, bringing up the long forgotten triggers the darker part of the human mind. It scares them, terrifies them. But this client's reaction was... interesting to say the least.

She didn't scowl in disgust like most do. She didn't appear sad, or angry. Despite the memory of a dead friend and my own appearance, the scars, the disfigures, the monstrous qualities, she smiled.

I was so shocked I almost dropped my darn scythe right then and there.

And I was intrigued. I felt an odd sensation in my lower ribcage which I thought had not been physically possible. No one had ever smiled at me before. At least, not sincerely. Mad people have smiled at me before. But to my knowledge, this woman wasn't so.

I flipped through her memories, searching for some sort of reason, some sort of stimuli that might have started the smile. Perhaps she had seen something behind me.

But I saw in her unhindered kindness. She was a kind type, a gentle type. After dealing with death for so long, it was a relief. Her life was filled with such love and care, despite the awful circumstances, that I honestly did not know how to react.

She was like me, this girl. She had accepted her position without much fighting or trouble. But it had still been chipping away at her, though she'd never admit it. Now, though, it seems as though she had figured it all out. Unlike her, she had figured a way out. I wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that she could do this, she wasn't alone. But there was nothing I could do, not now.

I smiled in return as she closed her eyes.

Then I raised my scythe.