Only she remembered what happened on her wedding. After all, only she was able to enter the realm of the dead. To invite others for the ritual would invite misfortune, so she carefully prepared the necessary steps in order to execute her plan. Every grave was given a lit candle in the dead of night as moonlight bathed the grass and stone in a pearly silver. When the entire graveyard blossomed with a warm orange light, she knelt before the stairs of the ancient chapel in the center. Between her clasped hands was a rosary her fiancé made for her before death took him home. As she recalled how he tried to replicate her grace into the jewelry he made, a tear fell on one of the cloudy beads. All orange flames became as pale as moonlight as the sound of bells roared through the earth. 


Beyond the veil of tears, she saw the beads of her most treasured possession twinkle with the ghostly fire, articulating a universe of miracles. Within every sparkle, she saw the way his eyes lit up when he saw her, the way his smile melted whenever she made him laugh, the way he’d look at her when he thought she couldn’t see him. The memory of the way his pupils dilated whenever he’d see her or lean in for a kiss sent spears through her chest in the wake of his absence. Even though the candles were gentle, she heard something crackling and burning, enveloping and engulfing her. All her memories of him roared beneath her skin and howled in her marrow, setting her entire being ablaze until she could only wail. She couldn’t tell if it was due to the superhuman nature of the ritual or the all too human nature of her grief. 


While her inner universe erupted with anguish, she pressed her wrapped hands against her head as she screamed to the stars. With every wave of wailing, the stars in the sky appeared to multiply and grow brighter until they could blind her. Raging in the twilight of her melancholy, the fire beneath her skin begged to reach the stars they envied. The flames recognized all that was and all that could have been, all the things she could never hold again. When she wiped her tears and felt the wedding ring he had given her on her cheek, she stretched her arm to see the silver ouroboros wrapped around her ring finger. Its third eye made of opal twinkled together with the stars and her tears, all embraced by the dark silence of the present. When she felt her nerves scintillate and her body melting into numbness for a moment, she knew the ritual had worked. 


“Be not afraid,” a voice gracefully articulated from the staircase. She only heard it as a faint whisper, for her body and mind had embraced the cold dirt. 


“Be not afraid,” it repeated with a light yet gravely voice. This time, it punctuated every word with a pinch of frustration. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she finally heard alongside the flick of a zippo and the faint crackling of something burning. When the voice closed the zippo with another flick, all the candlelight disappeared at once. Even with eyes closed, she felt the darkness weigh down on her immediately, increasing the weight of her loneliness. Too tired to stand, she remained on the floor, wondering if the voice in her head would be louder in her dreams. 


Her whole body was lifted from the ground out of pure shock when she heard and felt church bells roaring through her. When she turned towards the source of the bells, she realized that there were a set of 5 bells swaying at the same pace, producing a deafening and monotonous harmony. When she turned her gaze to the stairs of the chapel, she saw a man dressed in a black leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, tapping the heel of his boot against the stone in rhythm to the bells. The shimmer of the metallic skull mask over his nose and chin accentuated the smoke that flowed out of the shiny teeth. Despite the man’s human shape, his deep golden eyes betrayed anything familiar to her. 


“God, finally, you’re awake. I thought I had to escort you too.” 


Too tired to give a proper response, she reacted with a hum of confusion as she furrowed her brows. He held the apple-shaped pipe in his hand that was full of rings bound to his bracelet with chains. He blew out a cloud of smoke that refused to fade.  


“Can’t you see what you got yourself into?” 


She tried getting up, afraid of falling again due to the wedding gown. She remained seated on her knees as she tried to understand what she was seeing. A wild headache ravaged her mind along with an impenetrable fog, giving her the impression that she was going through a hangover. Having gone through such things many times, the man killed the time by letting small spirits swim in the cloud he created, mesmerizing himself with blissfully innocent joy. After a few seconds, he glanced over at her, marveling at the questions she aroused in his curiosity. 


“A black wedding dress, really? It looks like you really did come prepared, huh. And the running mascara?I’ve never seen that one before.” 


The man’s chains rustled like leaves as he bubbled with laughter. With a shred of awareness, she became more awake with the influx of embarrassment. 


“H-hey! One of me and my fiancé’s favorite movies had a scene with a bride like that, so I thought it would be… fitting. Don’t laugh, it’s sentimental.” 


“And isn’t sentiment a beautiful thing? Why couldn’t that be enough for you? Why bother me and twist miracles to get what you desire?” 


Him saying that finally made her realize that her ritual worked, that she was speaking to a psychopomp. The question he posed didn’t have time to sink it as excitement overflowed within her. A wild laugh that sounded like catbells flowed out of her as he fixed his confused gaze on the hysterically laughing woman. He shook his head with a soft grunt, impatient at the monotony of his job. He flicked his fingers and summoned two fay-like creatures, one of which turned into tobacco for his pipe and the other jumped on the other, turning into the fire to burn it. His thumb caressed the apple shaped head of the wooden pipe that still carried the scent of Eden. With his fingers, he read a part of the engraving around the head of the pipe, repeating the mantra of his endless mission in his mind. “Et in Arcadia ego…” 


“So does this mean I can see him again?” 


The liveliness of her voice immediately pulled him out of his daydreaming. He tried to remain calm, but was unable to shake off the cacophony of echoes that she participated in. With every time he received that same question, a part of him shriveled up and drew out its final breath. When he blew smoke, he turned them into sparkling butterflies that danced under the moonlight. Watching how they danced and sat on the gravestones like flowers, she marveled at the beauty he revealed to her; how beautiful the echoes of life are in the shadow of death. It was like looking at a mirror of herself, seeing herself as one of his lunar butterflies that drank from the memories of an eternal love. But when she saw the golden eyes of the man in black, she saw a spark of hope surrounded by a pain deeper than her grief. 


“Yes and no,” he replied with playful nonchalance. While she couldn’t see his smile behind the silver mask, she felt it cut through her tender heart. 


“First off, congratulations! Not many people are able to successfully summon me like this. While I’d love to ask you how you came to know of this ritual, I have a tight schedule, so I’ll give you a basic rundown of the procedures.” 


Hearing him speak at length, she felt the tremor of his voice shivering through her nerves. With every word he uttered, she heard the lingering spirits of the dead in the graveyard hum alongside a choir of other souls. She felt quite silly for realizing it up to this point, and even more foolish to suddenly blurt it out. 


“Are you the grim reaper?” 


The man froze, staring blankly at her before letting out a puff of laughter out of a mix of humor, impatience and disbelief. 


“I’m not that grim, am I?” 


Still in a daze, she leaned against the side of a large gravestone, absentmindedly staring at the glowing butterflies and far beyond the darkness of night. With a click of the tongue, he got up and made his way to her. As he made his way there, he blew one last puff of smoke from the wooden pipe, transforming the wood into a long winding staff with a large curved blade made of smoke. When the smoke fully enveloped the top, it gave birth to a broad crude blade with a razor edge. Sitting down, he rested it over his shoulder with the scythe blade wrapped around his back. Moonbeams shone down on the engravings on the blade that spelled out the mantra of his occupation. 


“Et in Arcadia ego…?” 


“Ah, so you can read at least! That’s good.”


Seeing that he got her attention fully, he finally continued with his explanation without distraction. 


“I prefer the term psychopomp, because not all of us are grim and gloomy. People in my occupation transport or escort those who die to their appropriate afterlife. There are a lot more details but that’s all you need to know for now.” 


Without any warning, he stretched out his hand to her. Small threads connected her body to his fingers before he pulled his hand away to reel in a glowing smoke from her which he breathed in like fresh air. The skin behind his silver mask glowed as brightly as moonlight before turning into a soft smoke once exhaled. When he took away that aspect of her, she felt her body grow numb again, clutching the gravestone behind her even closer than before out of fear of falling into an eternal sleep. 


“What, what did you just do?” 


“Seal the deal, silly. You summoned me, so you need to pay for the consequences. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you performed this ritual, right?” 


Still in disbelief, she tried to collect her memories and give him a proper response. 


“Well, the person who told me about this said that if done correctly, I can see my fiancé again. That’s all they said.” 


“Ah, you poor naive bastard,” he moaned, realizing the kind of client he had to deal with. 


“Well, yes, but did they tell you the catch?” 


“No…?”


“Of course they didn’t,” he said, clicking his tongue in frustration. He took a deep breath in and folded his hands together in a business-like fashion, tilting his head as he studied her confused countenance. 


“How far are you willing to go to see your beloved again?” 


Despite the gravity of the question, she remained steadfast in her convictions and replied as firmly as her love for him. 


“I’ll do whatever it takes.” 


“Really?” 


“Yes.” 


The man slowly nodded, realizing that she wasn’t just a desperate fool who was completely absorbed by her grief. 


“And are you willing to go through hell for him?” 


The question struck her like lightning, summoning alertness directly into her. Upon hearing that, she understood the seriousness of her actions, knowing that she couldn’t go back. Unable to utter a word, she nodded, wrestling with the disgust of her certainty and uncertainty. But even he noticed the doubt in her heart, a doubt that would make her run away in a heartbeat. 


“Thankfully, you don’t need to kill anyone. Reapers aren’t murderers; we must simply be present at the moment of death, sever their souls cleanly, capture it and bring it wherever it is meant to go. That means you can’t complain if a soul has to go to hell or heaven or anywhere in between, and it also means that you will have to travel dangerous paths to get to those destinations.” 


When he saw a spark of confusion in her eyes upon hearing the word dangerous, he continued to elaborate. 


“Since you’re so new, you’ll have to carry the weight of the souls you reap, which means you’ll have to carry all their emotional baggage as well. It’ll either manifest in the form of wicked intrusive thoughts, nightmares, anxiety, even ugly little chimeric creatures that are dying to rip your guts out. Once you do bring them to their proper destination, you’ll gain access to that sweet fiancé of yours in Arcadia.”


“In Arcadia?” 


The man snapped his fingers before pointing with his thumb at its name engraved on his scythe. 


“You can see him now, if you want. Just twist that nice ring of yours three times with your eyes closed. One twist will deafen the noise of the world, the second twist will throw you in a space between realms, and the third will bring you to Arcadia, near your fiancé. Go, try it now.” 


She did exactly what he said, feeling the world around her ebb and a new one flow through her. By the third twist, she heard euphonic birdsong and felt the warmth of sunlight wash over her. When she opened her eyes, however, she found herself standing in a small cozy kitchen and saw her fiancé sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee and a book. A wave of emotions came over her as she stepped closer, unable to contain the joy in seeing him so near to her again. She even noticed his peculiar homely scent when she was behind him, but he remained unphased as he read the book. Without hesitation, she embraced him from behind with tears running down her cheeks. But his comforting scent was quickly replaced by the stench of burning flesh. When she saw who it was, she noticed the ashen gray hair of the reaper and quickly made some distance between them. 


“I’m sorry to ruin your moment, but you can only fully see him if you reaped a soul.” 


He flicked his fingers after taking a sip of the coffee, transporting them back to the moonlit graveyard. 


“Think of it like a reward; you’re getting paid with visiting privileges. While others use it in other ways, you would only use it for visits anyway. Also, since you sacrificed a part of yourself in the ritual, you’d need to do your job in order to stay here on earth as well, being half dead. But that wouldn’t change much, would it?” 


Chained to the shadow of death for so long, it was second nature for her. In her heart of hearts, she gladly sealed a lifelong contract if it meant being with her beloved for a lifetime. 


“That’s… That’s fine. A part of me died when he passed away, anyway.” 


The reaper was quiet for a moment, surprised by her dark maturity. He took his scythe and stood up, waiting for her to do the same. She brushed the dirt from her black gown and looked up to see him stretch his hand out for a handshake. 


“I’ll also be acting as your guardian spirit in this, so I hope you also don’t mind that aspect of the deal.” 


Going from his smile to his hand, she saw a glimpse of her future staring back at her with an abyssal gaze. But she was used to seeing such a darkness ever since he passed away, unable to pursue a light where there was none. But now, in the shadow of death, she found a new spark in her life. Without the will to die and the will to live, she was satisfied with this dark middle path and shook his hand. His body dissolved into smoke and reshaped itself as a large scythe in her hand, carrying the mantra she was tasked with carrying now. The top of the scythe was enveloped by a longer form of the rosary he had made for her, weaving itself through the notch and handle like a spider’s web cradling dewdrops. 


“Et in Arcadia ego,” she whispered to herself as she read it on her scythe’s blade, as a message to her beloved that she would always be there with him.